Edge of Doom
by Praetorian Productions
Summary: Mulder and Scully investigate a slasher case in New York City; Vincent, Catherine, and the Tunnels have to decide how to handle the investigation. All is not as it seems; what will Mulder and Scully do when they discover The Truth?
1. Chapter 1

Title: Edge of Doom

Fandoms: Beauty & the Beast, TV series and X-Files

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty and the Beast nor the X-Files. I am writing for fun, not profit. I also borrowed and referenced a few quotes from both series; only the circumstances in which I use the quotes belong to me. The Shakespeare and Star Trek excerpts are also not mine, although that should be obvious.

Spoilers: While this story takes place late in Season Two of the X-Files, I reference events from future episodes and will include an epilogue that takes place two weeks after the Series finale, "The Truth." Everything is fair game, including all B&tB seasons.

A/N: I have tried to suitably explain both worlds for those who may be more familiar with one series than the other, but fairly intimate knowledge of both worlds will be helpful in fully understanding the story. I have tried to make this a true crossover; this is not a straight case file, nor is it a B&tB episode. I have tried my best to abide by X-Files canon; this is a Classic B&tB, meaning Catherine's not dead and is still in a relationship with Vincent. I have borrowed a few elements from the much-maligned B&tB 3rd season; the idea of Catherine living in a brownstone and married to Vincent is widely accepted as a suitable Classic outcome, so I have borrowed it for my story. Any canon errors are mine alone, and I apologize for them.

_Friday, February 17, 1995_

_8:00 pm_

Catherine stepped out of the taxi, thankful to be home. She had told Vincent she would be working late, so he had taken their two children Below. The brownstone she and her family lived in while Above looked dark and forlorn; Catherine could hardly wait to change into more comfortable clothes and to join her husband and children Below.

Briefcase in hand, Catherine approached her front steps. A vague sense of unease tickled the back of her neck; while Catherine had no evidence of danger, a heightened sense of perception was one of the results of the Bond. Cautiously, she crept up the steps. The front door was slightly ajar, verifying Catherine's original uneasiness.

Judging from the feelings Vincent was sending through the Bond, he had sensed her unease and was on his way up from Below. Catherine briefly considered waiting on the front porch, but she had not earned her reputation as Joe Maxwell's best investigator by waiting around. Just because she had switched careers did not mean her personality had changed.

She slowly opened the door and eased it shut behind her, her green eyes quickly adjusting to the dark. While her eyesight was not as keen as Vincent's, Catherine could tell that, as a result of the Bond she shared with her unique husband, her night-vision was more cat-like than it had been before she had married Vincent. Catherine slowly took in the familiar yet suddenly menacing contours and shadows of her home. Her eyes rested on the digital panel that controlled her state-of-the-art security system, noting that it had been disabled.

Catherine became more wary, knowing the skill it took to disable such an expertly crafted alarm. She could sense Vincent's closeness, but knew he would not be at the Tunnels entrance in their basement for several more minutes.

Pulling her keys from her jacket pocket, Catherine stuck one key in each space between the fingers of her right hand, forming Wolverine-style brass knuckles. Isaac Stubbs had taught her that trick; he had drummed into Catherine's head that sometimes the only weapons you have are the ones close at hand. As Catherine still met with Isaac at least once a week, this lesson had never been forgotten.

Tensing her right hand in case she was attacked, Catherine began her inspection of the first floor. Some of her kitchen gadgets were missing, confirming that her house had been burglarized. A few of her valuable trinkets had been stolen from the dining room, but nothing of sentimental value was missing. As she had expected, her computer was missing from her home office; she was glad she had always been too cautious to store any personal information on it.

Catherine rounded the corner leading into the living room with a sense of relief because she could feel that Vincent was almost at the wine cellar basement entrance. Her sense of relief was short-lived as three men dressed in tight-fitting black jumped out from behind a pair of sofas. They moved quickly, their night-vision goggles giving them the ability to surround Catherine before she could escape.

They each pulled out a switchblade, the blades obviously sharp even in the dim light coming in through the shuttered windows. If she could somehow stall them until Vincent arrived….

The sound of dozens of shattering bottles rose up from the basement, startling the lead burglar into action. He rushed Catherine. She dodged his blade and raised her right hand over her head, raking her keys across the attacker's cheek. She cried out as she felt the blades of the other burglars slice her, one on her left arm and the other in her side.

A bone-rattling roar exploded in the house as a huge blur hurtled into the living room. The last thing any of the burglars saw through their night-vision goggles was an enormous, clawed hand descending on them. Vincent's attack was calm and measured; through the Bond, he and the Other were one, eliminating the loss of control that had often accompanied rescuing Catherine.

Having seen Father patch up numerous cuts and gashes, Vincent quickly established that Catherine's wounds were serious but not life-threatening. His instinct was to bundle her up in his cape and take her Below to Father, but he realized that they needed to deal with the three bodies first.

Sensing Vincent's rapid mood swings through the Bond, Catherine waited until they arrived at the same conclusion: that they had few choices.

"We could dispose of the bodies ourselves," Vincent said, breaking the silence with his rough, mellifluous voice.

"I think that would be best," Catherine agreed, shuddering at the thought of police once again asking for explanations of the strange slash marks on more victims connected to her.

"Unless you want me to call the police and make up some story about how a stray dog heard my cries for help and rescued me," Catherine said, knowing that such a story would never work. Especially not after the sight that had greeted the few cops who had been allowed inside Gabriel's high rise after Vincent had rescued Catherine and his new-born son five years ago.

Vincent sighed, knowing how much his wife hated dishonesty. While he no longer felt crushing guilt about the sacrifices Catherine made to protect him and his world, he still despised the sight and sense of his wife's inner turmoil.

"Or I could tell the police that I fended the burglars off myself," Catherine said, instantly rejecting that idea.

Vincent's head shot up and cocked.

"They're coming," he said softly, the swift spring to his feet belying his calm tone.

"Who?" Catherine asked.

"The police," Vincent said, his eyes already turning towards the basement stairway door.

"But how?" Catherine asked. "The alarm was disabled…But not the backup alarm!"

Catherine remembered approving the installation of a well-hidden backup alarm in case a burglar ever managed to disable the main system. Protecting Vincent and her family was her highest priority, and she had spared no expense.

The sirens were close enough for Catherine to hear, and she knew that the only remotely plausible explanation for what the police would find in her home was the last idea she had rejected.

"I somehow have to convince them that I did this," Catherine said, dragging Vincent towards the basement stairwell. "You have to leave now. If they catch you here…"

"But they won't believe you," Vincent said. "How will you explain the claw marks?"

Catherine walked back to the center of the room and picked up one of the switchblades.

"One of them rushed me, and I disarmed him," she explained. "I slashed him repeatedly out of panic and instinct. The others stabbed me while I was fighting the first man; once I dealt with him, I fought with the others and killed them the same way. It's the best we can do."

"Go!" Catherine whispered, hearing the sirens turn onto their street.

Vincent hugged Catherine tightly against him, releasing her when he felt her flinch in pain from her wounds. He tore himself away from her and raced down the stairs, hating to leave Catherine in such a condition and under such circumstances.

Catherine looked down at the switchblade in her hand and then at the bodies on the floor. She knew she had to make sure scientific analysis would support at least some of her claims. Her jaw squared in determination as she approached the first body. She would do what was necessary to protect her family.

_Monday, February 20, 1995_

_8:05 am_

Special Agent Dana Scully stood in the doorway of the basement office and smiled. Fox Mulder, her partner for the past two years, was leaning back in his swivel chair, his feet propped up on his desk and a manila folder in his lap. He absentmindedly twirled a pencil in his right hand as if that would help him process information faster. He tossed the folder on his desk, stretched his weary muscles, and launched the pencil towards the roof where it stuck in a cluster of several dozen of its brethren.

She walked through the door and smiled at Mulder when he looked up. "Working hard?" she asked him, glancing up at the ever-growing pencil collection embedded in the ceiling tiles.

"I was until you walked in," Mulder said, sliding his feet off his desk. "I've also been here longer than you have, as usual."

"I guess that's the price of obsession," Scully said, walking up behind Mulder so she could look over his shoulder. "Is that our new case?"

"Straight from Assistant Director Skinner," Mulder said.

Picking up on her partner's body language, Scully asked, "Is there something about this assignment that strikes you as odd or unusual?"

"Scully, we work on the X-Files. Of course this case is odd and unusual," Mulder said.

"What is so odd and unusual about this case that Skinner assigned it to us?" Scully asked, thinking it was too early for Mulder's Monday morning foolishness.

Mulder hunched over his desk and opened the folder, revealing a stack of graphic photographs.

"Slasher cases in New York City, some dating back about a decade," Mulder said in his briefing monotone. "All victims have this particular slash pattern on the abdomen or upper torso and sometimes show other signs of being attacked with great force. Most died with looks of abject terror on their faces. Some call him the Subway Slasher, while others insist that someone or something else is responsible for at least some of these deaths."

"Some_thing_ else?" Scully said, raising an eyebrow. "Like what? A wild dog? An escaped lion?"

"Maybe," Mulder said mysteriously, confirming Scully's suspicions.

"You think there's something supernatural about this case, don't you?" Scully accused. "You think some sort of monster did this. No, don't tell me. He's a big, hulking figure with huge, clawed hands and a fearsome countenance. He wears a thick, billowy cape and magically appears and disappears at will, fighting the good fight for the common man one evisceration at a time."

"How did you guess about the cape?" Mulder said, giving Scully his most endearing smile.

"Mulder, why did Skinner give us this case?" Scully asked again. "Surely this isn't the strangest thing happening in New York."

"While Skinner wasn't very forthcoming about his reasons, more draws these victims together than the method of death. Many of these victims were criminals being pursued by a New York City investigator named Catherine Chandler."

"That name sounds familiar," Scully said.

"She's made the news a couple of times. Catherine Chandler was born rich and privileged. Her mother died when she was ten, but that was the only real trouble she experienced. She had a cushy job at her father's corporate law firm, was engaged to a rich and handsome man named Tom Gunther (whose testimony is enclosed), and spent most of her time out partying."

"She sounds like someone who would know a lot about the Subway Slasher," Scully said.

"About eight years ago, she was mistaken for someone else and was abducted by several men in a white van. They tortured her for information, but she didn't know the answers to their questions. The men beat her, slashed up her beautiful face, and shoved her out of the van, leaving her for dead."

"This is all very interesting, Mulder; you know how I love your stories. But what does this have to do with the case?"

"I'm getting there," Mulder said, pressing his luck with another endearing smile. "Catherine Chandler disappeared for ten days; she still refuses to tell anyone where she went and who took care of her. When she reappeared, she received the best medical care, including plastic surgery to remove her scars. She informed her father and her fiancé that she was tired of the way she'd been living and that she was going to make radical changes. She quit her job at her father's firm and joined the DA's office as a lowly investigator. She stopped socializing every night, broke up with her fiancé, and started dating multi-millionaire architect Elliot Burch. Their relationship didn't last long, perhaps because Catherine dedicated herself to becoming an excellent investigator."

"An investigator who has, what? Some sort of…protector?" Scully asked.

"Maybe. Whatever you believe, it's hard to ignore the physical evidence. As I said, many of these victims were either criminals Catherine Chandler was investigating or individuals who were somehow connected to said criminals. About five years ago, she was kidnapped because she was getting too close to cracking an international crime ring. At first, the ring's leader, Gabriel, kidnapped Catherine for information with assistance from DA John Moreno, who had become corrupt. After Gabriel discovered Catherine was pregnant, he decided he wanted her child. So he kept her in a high rise in the city, delivered the child, and intended to inject her with a lethal dose of morphine."

"Don't tell me," Scully said, crossing her arms. "The Subway Slasher showed up, claws, cape, and all."

"Something showed up and killed anything that tried to keep it from getting to Catherine, including Gabriel himself."

"Leaving behind corpses bearing that same slash pattern and no eyewitnesses?"

"You're getting good at this, Scully," Mulder said. "Yes, Catherine was rescued, although she refused to go into great detail about how. She claimed to have been so drugged that she didn't know the identity of her rescuer; she also never revealed the identity of the father of her newborn son. Citing familial obligations, Catherine resigned her job in spite of the protestations of her good friend and newly-appointed DA, Joe Maxwell. She restored an old brownstone that was among her father's holdings; started up a non-profit organization with her life-long doctor and friend, Dr. Peter Alcott; and largely disappeared from the public eye. Until this past Friday, when three burglars made the fatal mistake of breaking into Catherine Chandler's house."

"Something tells me they didn't trip and fall down the stairs."

"You're on a roll, Scully," Mulder said. "That's pretty good for Monday morning. The police responded to a silent alarm around eight o'clock Friday night. They arrived to find a shaken but alive Catherine Chandler, switchblade in hand. Her story was that she killed all three intruders herself and slashed them four times each out of panic, and the police didn't see the need to dig any deeper. The three burglars were dead, Catherine Chandler was alive, and however the burglars had died, they were clearly killed in self-defense."

"Back to my original question: why us?" Scully asked. "Even with your fascinating tale, this still isn't the strangest story in New York. If the local cops don't want to investigate this, then why do we? Of what are they going to accuse Catherine? Self-defense? Possibly having a mysterious protector who always disappears?"

"Look, Scully," Mulder said, standing up. "I don't know why we've been given this case, but I'd rather not find myself listening to wire taps again like I had to the last time the X-Files were shut down. The official reason Skinner gave me is that the Subway Slasher killed a cop and the NYPD is bothered that the case remains unsolved. Factor in the deaths being linked to one person, the strange slash pattern, and the testimony of one Steven Bass (also enclosed), and Skinner feels that he has enough justification to give us this case. Given that the alternative is to go back to monitoring conversations about the difference between a lap dance and a table dance, I think I'd rather investigate the streets of New York."

"When you put it that way, I guess we should book some flights to the Big Apple."

Grinning, Mulder whipped out two tickets from his jacket pocket.


	2. Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I neither own Beauty & the Beast nor the X-Files.

Mulder's first thought when Catherine Chandler opened the door was that he doubted she had presented many cases dressed in sweats. His second thought was that Chandler was as attractive as the case file had led him to expect. _Okay, so maybe my second thought was actually my first thought,_ Mulder admitted as he pulled out his badge and introduced himself.

"Catherine Chandler? I'm Special Agent Fox Mulder of the FBI and this is my partner, Special Agent Dana Scully. We're here to ask you some questions about this past Friday night."

"Come in," Catherine said, opening the door wider and stepping back into the brownstone.

Mulder realized the reason for Catherine's attire: She had been cleaning up the mess left by the burglars, trying to put her house back together.

"Greg Hughes told me that he and his boys had gotten all the evidence they could from my home, so I've been working diligently for most of today," she said, leading the way to the kitchen. She reached into a black, plastic trash bag and pulled out her food processor, setting it back into what Mulder assumed to be its original place.

"That bag on the counter seems to contain items that go on that side of the kitchen, yet your coffee maker is already set up on the other side of the kitchen," Mulder observed.

"Setting up the coffee maker was my top priority," Catherine said. "Would you like a cup?"

Both Mulder and Scully murmured their assent.

After Catherine started the coffee brewing, she gestured for the agents to sit down at the breakfast bar in the middle of the kitchen.

"I would normally take guests to the living room, but it's not ready for company," Catherine said, a shadow crossing her face.

"We understand," Scully assured her. "We know from experience that events of this nature often take a long time to remedy, and not just physically."

Catherine shivered and then said, "It's hard to not spend every moment looking over your shoulder, and even harder to go to bed after checking all the locks for the third time. It will be a long time before I can truly be comfortable here again."

"You seem like a woman who values her privacy," Mulder said.

"When you've been through what I've been through, you have to be," Catherine replied.

"Was your son here the night of the burglary?" Mulder asked.

"He was with friends that evening because he knew I'd be working late," Catherine said.

"Where do these friends live?" Mulder asked. "If they live close by, we'd like to ask them a few questions, see if they saw anything strange."

"Let me get your coffee," Catherine said, sliding off of her barstool and busying herself with pouring and serving.

"Our friends live close by, but they also value their privacy. They've already assured me that they saw nothing out of the ordinary," Catherine said.

"Sometimes people remember things when they talk to other people," Mulder said, examining Catherine over the top of his mug.

"They've already talked to several people and have requested that they not be bothered further," Catherine said.

"Would you mind if we took a look around?" Scully asked.

"We'd like to get a feel for what happened Friday," Mulder said, the thought running through his mind that Friday was not the only thing he would like to get a feel for.

They left their mugs on the island and slid off the barstools. Catherine led them out of the kitchen and into the dining room. She mentioned that only a few things had been taken from here and that she had returned them to their places. Mulder noticed how few personal effects were in the room; he had yet to see a photograph of anyone but Catherine and her father.

They moved on to the home office, noticing the untidy piles of paper and the wires that had a freshly-untangled look. Mulder doubted that Catherine normally left her office in such sloppy condition.

"They didn't respect my filing system while they were untangling my wires," Catherine said.

"Good thing you didn't lose your computer," Mulder said. "Losing that much personal information is always difficult."

"I don't keep any personal information on my computer," Catherine said, returning his pointed stare with one of her own.

Mulder and Scully turned around, ready to see the living room. Catherine led the way, turning the corner and reluctantly entering the room. Once they saw the living room, the agents understood Catherine's hesitation.

While Catherine had done her best to tidy up, blood was still visible on the floor and walls. Several pieces of furniture had been broken in the fight but had yet to be thrown away. Mulder bent over and picked up a shard of pottery from a shattered vase. Catherine thanked him and threw the piece into a trash bag in a corner.

"I haven't cleaned this room thoroughly because the floor and walls will have to be redone," Catherine said, trying not to look at the bloodstains.

Mulder was pacing around the room, noticing the locations of the bloodstains in relation to the positions of the couches. He pieced together memories from the case file and his own observations of the room, trying to reconcile Catherine's story with the story told by the forensic evidence. Mulder was vaguely aware of Scully watching him and drawing a few of her own conclusions based on her examination of the autopsy photos.

"The burglars jumped out from behind the couches, knives drawn," Mulder said, stating one of the few elements of Catherine's story he believed.

"Yes," she replied. "All three of them were wearing night goggles and had switchblades. We fought, I stripped one burglar of his knife, and I used that knife and my self-defense training to kill all three."

"By repeatedly slashing all three of them with the same four-stripe slash pattern?" Mulder asked.

Catherine was unable to prevent all of the color from leaving her face. _Biology always wins_, Mulder could almost hear Scully think.

"I train several times a week with Isaac Stubbs, one of the best self-defense trainers in New York. We've spent extensive time training with knives and other weapons, so I'm well-versed in their use. Isaac might be a street-fighter, but that doesn't mean he fails to teach precision and thoroughness. In fact, he always stresses the importance of doing whatever you can to insure that you have the time and means to escape."

Catherine said all of that in a burst, her hands behind her back as if she were in front of a jury. _Perhaps she does feel like she's in front of a jury, and I think she knows she's not the only one on trial_, Mulder thought.

"Where does that door lead?" Scully asked, looking at the inconspicuous door near the back corner of the room.

"The basement," Catherine said.

"Do you mind if we take a look?" Mulder asked.

"If you want," Catherine said, "although there's nothing down there but wine and dust."

Scully glanced skeptically at Mulder, but she followed him and Catherine downstairs. Right away, Mulder noticed that, in spite of Catherine's warning, there didn't seem to be a single speck of dust in the entire basement.

_Either Catherine's a master housekeeper or she's tried her hardest to cover something up_, Mulder thought, taking in the immaculate wine bottles and perfectly clean floor.

"I suppose you meant to say, 'nothing but wine,' since there doesn't seem to be a single speck of dust down here," Mulder said.

"I guess I got the sudden desire to clean everything I could after the attack. I know that's irrational, but invasions of privacy don't always inspire logical actions," Catherine said.

Mulder noticed a glint in one of the corners directly across from a fully-loaded wine rack. He picked up the glass fragment, remembering the vase shard he had found in the living room. He looked at the wooden wine rack directly across the basement, and then looked at Catherine.

"What do you know about the Subway Slasher?" Mulder asked.

Catherine flinched, but said, "He was a vigilante who used to kill anyone he caught molesting an innocent passenger. The police tried to catch him, resulting in the death of a policeman who tried to stop the Slasher from killing a mugger. The Slasher escaped, and his whereabouts are currently unknown. Some say he's dead, while others say he's moved elsewhere. Either way, there have been no attacks on the subway for years, at least not from any slasher. Why?"

"Just curious," Mulder said. "Break any bottles lately?" he asked, indicating the shard in his hand.

"While I was cleaning up," Catherine said. "Working around all these bottles, something's bound to get broken."

"May we see the rest of the house?" Scully asked.

"The burglars didn't go upstairs," Catherine said. "Everything is the same as it was before the burglary."

"Maybe the burglars did something up there and you didn't notice it," Mulder said.

"What are you trying to prove?" Catherine asked. "Why are we standing here in my basement when the crime in question was committed by three now very dead men on the first floor of my home? As far as I'm concerned, this is an open and shut case. The criminals are dead, and the victims want to move on with their lives."

"Victims?" Mulder asked.

"My son and I," Catherine said. "All we want is for life to get back to normal as quickly as possible. Why are you making that so difficult?"

All of a sudden, Mulder felt tired and disillusioned. "Because it beats the heck out of wiretapping," he said, pocketing the glass shard and walking up the steps without another word.

"We might have some more questions for you, Ms. Chandler," Scully said at the front door.

"I'll be here, trying to put my life back together," Catherine said, closing the door behind them.

XXX

Vincent put his arms around Catherine, knowing through the Bond that her composed features were masking an inner maelstrom of fear, anxiety, and…guilt? He frowned, unable to understand why Catherine would feel guilty when she had already sacrificed so much for him. He drew her closer, deciding to discuss her feelings with her after this emergency council meeting.

Father called the meeting to order, and Vincent shifted his attention from the woman in his arms to the aging Tunnels patriarch. Since Vincent and Catherine were both council members, he figured they should pay attention.

"Catherine is the one who called this emergency meeting, so Catherine, would you please step forward and tell us about the emergency?" Father asked.

"Thank you, Father," Catherine said, stepping forward.

All of the council members were there, and the meeting was open to the Tunnels community.

"As you all know, our home was burglarized last Friday. I won't recount those details, and I had hoped that I wouldn't have to discuss them again. However, tonight, I received a visit from two FBI agents who asked all the right questions. They seemed suspicious of every aspect of my story. They wanted to know where my son was, they didn't believe my explanation of the burglars' wounds, and the man asked about the Subway Slasher," Catherine said.

Murmurs whispered around the chamber as everyone began making plans of stealth and concealment with loved ones. Father called for order and the murmuring quieted but did not stop.

"They also insisted on seeing the basement and noticed the cleanliness of the floor and bottles. One of the agents found a bottle shard in the corner and didn't seem to buy my story about feeling the need to clean every room of my home."

"Is there any chance that these agents will simply give up?" Father asked, pessimism coloring the question.

"I don't think so, Father." Catherine said. "The woman—Scully—had the bearing of a quick and keen investigator. She didn't say as much as Mulder—her partner—did, but she didn't observe any less. Mulder had the light of obsession in his eyes; he didn't seem like the type to give up on a case. He also made some mental leaps, although he simply could've gotten hold of a comprehensive case file. At least they didn't seem to know about Caroline; I guess that means we succeeded in keeping my second pregnancy a secret. I'm going to get Edie and Rita on this first thing in the morning; maybe they can find some information on these two agents. I'd like to talk to Joe, but the agents might be suspicious if they catch us together."

"We'll assemble work crews to change our entrances and pathways immediately," Kanin said, a few men already standing beside him, ready to work.

"I suppose we'll have to keep all the children Below until this threat passes," Mary said, regret showing on her face.

"Mouse can find agents' car, make it not go," Mouse said, his hands and sound effects illustrating an explosion.

"No!" several people shouted; Mouse looked cluelessly chagrined.

"While I'm sure Vincent and Catherine are grateful for your sincerity, Mouse, I'm sure that they do not desire to attract any more undue attention from the law," Father said.

"Mouse could make it look like accident."

Father put his head in his hands, looking as old as he probably felt. "Maybe you could help Vincent and Catherine make their Tunnels threshold more secure," Father suggested.

"Okay good, okay fine!" Mouse said, running out of the chamber.

"I'll help beef up security…and keep an eye on Mouse," Jamie said, her mini crossbow already at her side.

"I'll rap out an 'all quiet' on the pipes so that only emergency messages will be sent," Pascal said, his desire to return to his beloved pipes evident in his shuffling.

Tunnels residents continued to mention ideas until Mouse ran back into the room, a huge bundle of paper in his hand. His curly mop of blond hair bobbed up and down as if it were also caught up in his excitement.

"Got plans for special gizmo!" he said, spreading the large sheet of paper out on a table. "Tie rope here, hang big hammer there, spread net there…agents open secret door? Bang! Best Mouse trap ever! Better than good! Better than best!"

"Might that not also hurt Catherine?" Vincent asked gently, trying to hide a smile.

"Only if Catherine not duck," Mouse said, shrugging.

Father stood up, and everyone immediately stopped talking and paid attention. They knew how hard it was for Father to put too much pressure on his bad hip, so they knew he had something important to say.

"If these agents are as determined as Catherine seems to think they are, then perhaps we should take a page out of Poe's book—"

"Mouse took a page out of Father's book once, but Father punished Mouse. Why Father gets to take page out of book but not Mouse?" Mouse asked.

"We shall take a page out of Poe's book," Father continued, glaring at Mouse, "by hiding the Tunnels in plain sight. The threshold is already disguised as part of the wine cellar; you have to pull out a sequence of bottles in order to open the door, so it cannot be opened by accident. However, we can disguise the small chamber beyond the threshold to resemble an old, abandoned speakeasy. If the agents do somehow open the secret door, then all they will see is a bar, a few overturned tables, and a couple of dusty tunnels that were once used for secret access to the speakeasy."

"What's a speakeasy?" Mouse asked Father. "Mouse used to think speaking hard, but Mouse met Vincent, and now speaking easy."

"During the Roaring Twenties, alcohol was banned for a period of time called Prohibition. In order to get around that ban, some people set up illegal, hidden bars called 'speakeasies.'"

"Roaring Twenties? Did people roar like Vincent back then?"

"I think it's time for supper, Mouse," Jamie said, guiding Mouse out of Father's chamber.

"Speaking of supper, I guess I should head back that way myself," William said. "Can't let anyone nick my pies."

"Unless anyone has anything more to say, I move that we be dismissed," Father said.

"I'd like to say something," Catherine said. "I just wanted to thank all of you for being so understanding and for working so hard to help us. I know I've put you all in danger by my desire to continue to help those Above as well as those Below, and I'm sorry about that. I would stay Below myself, but I know how suspicious I would find it if someone I had just questioned disappeared."

"Catherine," Father began, his eyes misting, "I used to resent the risk you presented not only to my world, but to my son. I thought that you would bring Vincent nothing but pain, and that you put our world in undue peril every time you came Below or Vincent went Above to rescue you. You have since proven this foolish old man wrong, and you are one of us now. You have given us so much; you have given me two precious grandchildren. We will stand by you now, Catherine, because you are family."

"Thank you, Father," Catherine managed to say through her tears.

Vincent, arms still wrapped around Catherine, said, "Let's go find our children."

XXX

"Marcus Davis, age 22, a gang member from the Lower East Side," Scully said, recording her observations on the present autopsy.

"He appears to have died from several long, deep slashes across his abdomen and face," Scully said, noting the angles of the slash marks and their proximity to one another.

"Actually, the slash pattern on his left cheek seems to be shallower than those on his abdomen, although that could be accounted for by angle, distance, strength, etcetera."

Scully looked closer at the slash marks on the victim's face; this was supposedly the man that Catherine Chandler had disarmed.

"These facial lacerations are similar to the marks on the victim's abdomen in angle, but the lacerations were clearly made with a duller blade. In fact, I do not believe this facial wound was made by any weapon recovered at the crime scene. Not that the rest of these wounds resemble knifings either; in fact, they seem as if they were made by…"

"What, Scully?"

Scully's head jerked up and her body tensed, but she relaxed once she realized that Mulder was standing in the doorway.

"You know I hate it when you sneak up on me while I'm doing an autopsy," Scully said.

"I must have forgotten that detail somehow," Mulder said, grinning impudently. "What were you going to say about these slash marks on the first victim?"

"I was just hypothesizing that these wounds are not consistent with those made by most knives. The facial lacerations are definitely too rough; there's no way the rest of these lacerations were made by something as keen as a switchblade."

"What do you think made them, then?" Mulder asked, looking down at the body. "You were going to say something before I walked in."

"I don't have any definite conclusions at this time, but I was going to say that these wounds resemble…"

"Go on, Scully; say it. We've seen these types of marks before. Remember that supposed bobcat in Montana?"

"Claw marks," Scully said.

"Not that I have any physical evidence of claw marks," Scully said, Mulder's expression infuriating her as it often did. "The facial lacerations don't seem like they were made by claw marks; they were probably made by something blunter. Neither of us believes Catherine's story completely; she's clearly hiding something. However, we do not have any evidence that she's hiding some mythical creature that keeps her safe from hurt and harm."

"I don't think there's anything mythical about Catherine's protector," Mulder said, studying the corpse again. "I assume you've compared these slash marks with those attributed to the Subway Slasher and found them different?"

"I did, but we both expected that result. Those wounds had a different angle and spacing that was evident even in the photographs. But that doesn't mean that a copycat didn't kill these people, Mulder."

"Tomorrow we can question Joe Maxwell and several others; maybe we can finally get some legitimate answers, perhaps the first one being what three exceptionally well-equipped, small-fish gang-bangers were doing burglarizing the home of a prominent woman who used to work in law enforcement."

"'Legitimate' isn't exactly the term I would use for most of the answers we've gotten over the past two years," Scully said.

"Maybe you're right, Scully," Mulder said, heading for the door. "Some people get a little touchy when you start discussing legitimacy."

Scully shook her head as Mulder exited the room. She returned her focus to the body on the table, searching for answers.


	3. Chapter 3

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty and the Beast nor X-Files.

Catherine walked into work around 10 am and knew something was wrong. Rita and Edie were huddled around the same computer, and whatever they were looking at was causing them to whisper urgently. Catherine smiled as she remembered the fuss Joe had raised when she had hired Rita and Edie away from him; it was a decision she had never regretted.

"What's the matter? Did you two lose solitaire or something?" Catherine said.

"Actually, we were discussing Special Agents Mulder and Scully, who paid us a visit about an hour ago," Rita said.

"They came here early, no doubt having found out from somewhere that I don't usually arrive at work until late morning. What did they ask? What did you tell them?" Catherine asked, walking towards the two ladies at the computer.

"You know we didn't tell them nothing," Edie said indignantly. "I told girlfriend she needed to lose the power bangs and thin out her hair, but she didn't seem to appreciate my advice."

"Did you really tell Scully that?" Catherine asked, grinning.

"Yeah, and I asked that sexy partner of hers if there was room for two under that black trench coat. They thought I was a total idiot."

"Congratulations," Catherine said.

"I simply told them that you are very protective of your privacy and that you try to keep your professional life and your private life separate. Neither of us had to lie, but neither of us could tell the full truth," Rita said.

"Thank you both," Catherine said, walking around the desk to stand behind both women. "Did they question the others, too?"

"They gave me the third degree; I gave them nothing," Luz Corrales said as she walked in from a back office. "You would think the FBI would have more important things to do than to make life tough for someone who actually tries to make a difference."

"If what we found out is true, then we might be looking at a worst-case scenario," Rita said, gesturing at Luz to join them around the computer.

"Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully both work on something called the X-Files. Whenever the Bureau rules a case unsolvable, they file the case under 'X.' Agent Mulder in particular searches out cases that often deal with the paranormal, particularly extraterrestrials," Rita said.

"If that's true, then Sexy might not be after you; he might be after…."

Edie did not need to complete that sentence; they all looked at one another before looking back at the computer screen. The agents' pictures and biographies were there, as well as several reports filed by the Bureau.

"Look at this," Luz said, pointing out a detail on the screen. "According to this report, the X-Files were closed down for a few months and Mulder and Scully were separated and reassigned. The X-Files were obviously reopened, but why? Who lobbied for those two to be reinstated? Most importantly, why were the X-Files shut down in the first place? My BS detector is going off full blast; after being in this business as long as I have, I recognize dirty politics when I see them. I have a feeling there might be more to this investigation than even Mulder and Scully know," Luz said, stepping away from the computer and looking at Catherine.

"You mean the gang members, the timing, and the possibility that someone powerful might be pulling the strings?" Catherine asked.

"I've dealt with powerful people before, and one thing I learned is that their involvement is often hard to trace," Luz said, a bitter grimace on her face.

"I know what you mean," Catherine said, remembering how Luz had almost been ruined by Eliot Burch's scheme to protect his precious tower.

"Hard, but not impossible," Luz said. "Especially when you have two of the best researchers in New York working for you."

"Only New York?" Edie squawked indignantly. "Girlfriend, we might just be the best in the country."

"Edie's just jealous of Agent Scully because she gets to spend so much time alone with Agent Mulder," Rita said, walking back to her own computer in response to Edie's glare.

"Sexy's boyish charm didn't fool me. Underneath those good looks is an intensity that I wouldn't mess with. Besides, I saw the way he looked at that partner of his. I don't think he minds her hair style."

"Where's Peter?" Catherine asked.

"I'm right here," Dr. Peter Alcott said, strolling into the room. "Don't worry," he said, putting a hand up, "I didn't tell them anything. Except that the first time I saw you, you were stark naked."

"Peter! Please tell me you didn't tell them that old family joke," Catherine said, looking almost panicked.

"I didn't," he admitted, a twinkle in his eye, "but I thought about it. As entertaining as it would have been to tell them about my role in your birth, I tried to come across as an affable, retired doctor who thinks about nothing but golf and stocks. Hopefully they didn't suspect a thing."

Catherine filled him in on what Edie and Rita had found, and his face showed his concern. "Do you think they're after…you know…because of the bodies, or is there some other reason?" he asked.

"Luz was wondering something similar, and I've learned to trust her instincts, especially when it comes to dirty politics. Edie and Rita have promised they'll get to the bottom of this, but they probably won't find anything for awhile," Catherine said.

"Why is it that we're all in on Catherine's secret but we still won't say his name?" Luz wondered aloud.

"When you've been around technology as much as we have, you learn to always assume that someone's listening," Edie said, Rita nodding in agreement.

"I've kept the secret for so long, I use evasive language out of habit," Peter said.

There was silence, and Catherine realized that everyone was looking at her.

"I would do anything to protect him. Let's get to work."

XXX

Joe and Jenny Maxwell were charming, loquacious, and completely uninformative. Sitting beside Scully and across from the happy couple in an Italian restaurant called Cosa Nostra, Mulder could tell that the couple was hiding something. Cosa Nostra was a mobster-themed restaurant which boasted both good décor and good food, but Mulder figured that it would take more than brandishing the presumably unloaded tommy gun mounted on the wall to convince Joe and Jenny to tell them anything useful about Catherine.

"So Cathy got her revenge on the bimbo who made a crack about my social status and got an A plus on her essay at the same time," Jenny said, her dark curls shaking in amusement.

"Catherine seems like a resourceful woman," Mulder said, attempting to get something useful out this lunch meeting besides a great plate of baked ziti.

"I tell you," said Joe around a forkful of lasagna, "Radcliffe could sometimes make witnesses appear outta thin air. Just when we'd all be ready to give up on a case, Radcliffe would lead in another victimized person she'd somehow convinced that speaking out against injustice was the right thing to do."

"Radcliffe?" Mulder asked.

"Cathy and I went to school at Radcliffe," Jenny explained. "Joe used to tease her about it because it's usually a place for rich kids. As Cathy proved herself to Joe through hard work, the nickname became a term of endearment rather than an insinuation of privileged laziness."

"I'm sure the fact that law enforcement is mostly an all-boys club had nothing whatsoever to do with Joe's initial reservations about Catherine," Scully said, innocently taking a bite of spaghetti.

"Hey!" Joe sputtered, putting both of his hands up, "I had every right to be skeptical of Radcliffe! Those pretty green eyes and soft hands didn't look like they'd seen much hard work. I'd dealt with her kind before. You know, rich socialite bimbos who got a sudden dose of conscience and decided they wanted to work for the common man. At least until they figured out that the common man—or woman, although you can't always tell the difference in this city—doesn't go to glamorous parties in expensive dresses every night."

"Scully knows the men in the FBI respect her," Mulder said, looking at Scully with his smuggest smile. "After all, they did make her my partner."

"And look where it's gotten me!" Scully said, stabbing her dirty fork in the air in front of Mulder.

"Yeah, I guess I can see how eating lunch in a nice Italian restaurant in New York City with three charming individuals could be seen as terrible. It's a hard-knock life for you, Little Orphan Scully."

"Working with you, I've been shot at, stabbed, kidnapped, and threatened, sometimes by men who are supposed to be on my side."

"Sounds like Radcliffe," Joe said, his chuckle becoming more guarded as his wife aimed a pointed look his way. "I mean, working in the DA's office can be dangerous, especially the investigative side of things. Once I realized Radcliffe was tougher than I'd thought, I shoulda assigned her to a less dangerous department. But she kept solving cases and bringing in witnesses….Not that others didn't get hurt. A couple good men died in just the few short years Radcliffe worked for me."

"How did she get out of all of those situations?" Scully asked. "I've made a few ingenious escapes of my own, but Mulder's had to save me several times. Ingenuity can only get you so far."

"I guess Radcliffe has a great guardian angel," Joe said. "And she's only gotten better in a fight."

"Her training," Scully said, nodding her head. "I'm pretty good in a fight myself, but Ms. Chandler isn't much taller than I am. From what I've seen of her old case files, many of the men she supposedly killed sustained wounds far beyond her reach."

"This isn't exactly the best topic of discussion, especially over so many tomato-sauce dishes," Jenny said, flashing as sincere a smile as she could muster. Mulder had seen Krycek smile more honestly.

"I suppose you're right," Scully said. "Sometimes it's hard to leave work behind."  
"Tell me about it," Joe and Jenny said at the same time.

"Being a DA is hard work," Joe said defensively. "You knew that before you married me."

"I know, honey," Jenny said, laying a hand on Joe's tense arm, "and you usually do a good job of leaving work at work—once you leave work."

"In our line of work, work has a way of banging on your door late at night and then shooting you in the face when you answer," Mulder said, nodding sagely.

"Mulder's words to live by," Scully said.

"If you guys will excuse me, I need to get back to wasting the taxpayers' money," Joe said, standing up and pushing in his chair. "Don't worry about the bill; Cosa Nostra is run by family, so my money and my friends' money doesn't spend here."

"Thanks for the meal and the answers," Mulder said. "Hopefully we won't be hanging around here too much longer."

"Hopefully," Joe said as he put his arm around his wife and left the restaurant.

"What did you think?" Mulder asked Scully as he helped her into her trench coat.

"I think we've gotten more helpful input from Cancerman."

"From the pointed nature of your questions, I can almost believe you're buying into my theory," Mulder said, shrugging into his own dark trench coat.

"I don't believe there's anything special about Catherine's protector, but I remain highly skeptical that she could've gotten out of all those tense situations alone."

"I suppose we got as much out of them as I expected; everyone we've talked to so far seems to be in on the secret, whatever it is. Now I want to talk to an uncommon man who is known for going to glamorous parties but who does not—at least to my knowledge—wear extravagant dresses."

XXX

Elliot Burch stood up behind his desk in a show of courtesy as Agents Scully and Mulder saw themselves out. Burch was used to his good looks and suave charm smoothing over rough situations, but the agents seemed to have been immune to his usual weapons. Their questions had demanded answers Elliot had wanted to know for years, answers he had never pursued out of respect for Cathy.

Lost in thought, Elliot walked over to his panoramic window and poured a snifter of brandy from the decanter he always kept on an ornate serving cart. He took a sip and sighed in satisfaction, weighing his options in the way he had done since he had decided as young Stosh Kaczmarek to rise above his impoverished circumstances. His buildings decorated New York City like sprinkles on a cake, yet he never could look out the window at The Spot without wincing.

Years ago, Catherine Chandler had, for whatever reason, agreed to marry him if he would stop constructing Burch Tower. If his other buildings were sprinkles, Burch Tower would have been the grand and glorious center candle that would never have been snuffed out. Cathy had believed the tower would have damaged the city; looking back, he admitted she might have been partially right. He had refused her offer, she had refused his, and he had lost both the tower and the woman of his dreams.

Elliot Burch had never liked the saying, "You can't have your cake and eat it too." New York City was his cake decorated with his sprinkles, and he both consumed and possessed her at will. Almost at will, he amended as he took a generous swallow of his drink. He stood at the window, stared at The Spot, and considered his options.

He tipped his head back and downed the last of his brandy, setting the empty glass on the serving cart. Pulling out his cell phone, he walked back towards his desk. He hit speed dial and was relieved to hear a deep voice greet him.

"Cleon," Elliot said, "do it."

The dial tone was all the answer he needed from his trusted PI; Cleon would stop only when he had found all the answers. Cathy was in trouble; he could feel it. Elliot Burch sat down behind his desk and leaned back in his chair, hoping that Cleon and his men could find the answers that could protect the only woman he had ever come close to truly loving.


	4. Chapter 4

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty & the Beast nor the X-Files.

Catherine wished she could use the Tunnel threshold in her office building to go home, but she knew she needed to take a cab in order to preserve the façade of normalcy she had erected around herself since the attack. She assumed she was being watched; what would her observers think if Catherine Chandler entered her building but never visibly exited it?

Walking out the front doors into the cold, twilight evening, Catherine spotted the cab she had called parked at the curb. She started toward it, but was accosted by three thugs whose bleary eyes and unsteady movements indicated some form of intoxication. The cabbie floored the gas, speeding away from danger and leaving Catherine defenseless. While her training exercises with Isaac made her a match for three high and drunk punks, the guns in their hands evened the odds.

They surrounded her quickly. She considered reaching into her purse in search of a weapon, but decided the gesture would earn her nothing but a quick bullet. Vincent was miles beneath her, his fear and frustration racing along the Bond as he himself was racing upward. The thugs seemed uncertain of what to do next, their intoxication having led to a lack of preparation.

"What do you want from me?" Catherine asked.

"You kill mah brutha," the biggest thug slurred, waving his gun at Catherine. "I foun' some swag and dough in his room, an' a shot of you. You was da hit; Imma finish da job."

"Why did your brother and his friends try to rob me? I'd never met any of them," Catherine said.

"He wouldn't tell us nothin'," one of the other punks said, ignoring the glare from the bigger thug. "He was actin' all big an' bad, said he'd finally hit da big time. If he'da let us watch his back, maybe things woulda turned out different."

"I'm sorry about your friend, but he broke into my house and tried to kill me. I had no choice but to defend myself."

"Jus' like we got no choice but to finish what he started," the last thug said, his hand tightening on his gun.

Love and regret mingled in the Bond as Catherine gripped the only weapon she had and quickly pivoted towards the biggest thug. She swung her purse in an arc at his gun, her shoulder barreling into a solid wall of muscle. She sensed the other two thugs raising their weapons, so she instinctively ducked for cover behind the man she was wrestling.

Two shots rang out, both of them slamming into her and propelling her like a stiff-arm into the building behind her. A great weight crushed her chest, and all the air whooshed out of her lungs. Catherine thought she heard a roar deep beneath the earth, but that could have come from the Bond or her imagination or the pain or….

Squealing tires brought her thoughts back into focus; _go away_, she wanted to say. _Don't let them shoot you like they shot me_.

Catherine heard a car door open and a pair of feet step on the blacktop. Another thug, come to finish her off? Was a random stranger about to risk life and limb to save her? Vincent had finally made it to her building's Tunnels threshold, but it was still light enough for everyone to see what was happening. She knew he would try to save her, but she still sent protestations and pleas for caution through the Bond, through her pain.

"Freeze!" The stranger yelled in a New York accent even more pronounced than Joe's. "Drop your weapons!"

Catherine was fading out of consciousness, the weight on her chest suffocating her and narrowing the Bond. She shifted her weight slightly and was surprised to feel the pressure lessen. Pushing harder, she slid the dead weight off her and realized her mental term was accurate. The large thug was dead, having taken the two shots meant for Catherine.

One of the punks dropped his weapon and put his hands on his head, but the other whipped his gun up and aimed it at Catherine. A shot rang out, and Catherine flinched. The thug fell to the ground, dead by the police officer's bullet.

_Police_, Catherine thought, sending her relief to Vincent.

This policeman looked at home in his uniform, and his high, sharp cheekbones and long face seemed made of liquid steel. Catherine grabbed the dead thug's gun and stood up, the gun held instinctively at the ready. She looked the policeman in the eye and felt a shiver pass through her.

_Déjà vu_, Catherine thought, tightening her hold on the gun. The moment passed, and she relaxed her grip as the policeman shoved the surviving punk against the police car and read him his rights.

"Thank you for rescuing me," Catherine said, walking up to the officer and handing him the thug's gun.

"Glad I was drivin' by," he said. "You'll hafta come downtown and make a statement…."

"Are you sure that will be necessary?" Catherine asked. "I used to work for the DA's office, and they would often let me go home after tough cases."

"You're...Catherine Chandler. I usedta hear about you when I was a rookie. The boys were always talkin' 'bout the pretty, petite investigator who cheated death and produced willin' witnesses outta thin air. They were all heartbroken when you left."

"That's me," Catherine said, smiling for the first time since…she couldn't remember when. "I loved my job, but my son changed everything."

The officer's eyes deadened and closed off so quickly that Catherine knew she had said something wrong. She was on the verge of apologizing, but the officer turned away first.

"We'll talk later," he said wearily. "I'll call people out here to deal with the bodies an' keep watch on the place. Go home to your son. Hold 'im close. Tell 'im you love 'im. Keep 'im safe."

He climbed into the squad car and drove away, leaving Catherine watching from the sidewalk. She turned and ran through the doors of her building into Vincent's waiting arms.

XXX

Mulder and Scully sat at the battered wooden table in their foldable metal chairs across from an inmate. Scully could tell from the expressions of the guards and inmates that this was no ordinary criminal. She had seen similar expressions on the faces of fellow agents whenever her partner walked by, a whispered "Spooky" often following in his wake.

Mitch Denton had ordinary features, yet he exuded a malevolent confidence Scully had encountered in her dealings with serial killers, liver-eating mutants, and the occasional bureaucrat. He sat across the table, his chair balancing on its back legs to accommodate Denton's slouch. His posture did not convey respect for the FBI.

"Mr. Denton," Scully said.

"Mitch."

"Okay, Mitch. We would like to ask a few questions about the night you were arrested," Scully said.

"What could I possibly have to say to the Feds?" Mitch asked, setting his chair back down. "I told the cops and the courts everything I know, and I still got a life sentence. And if I did know more than I told, why would I tell you? Of course, if you wanna make a deal…."

"We want to know about what killed your men," Mulder said, taking over the line of questioning as he often did.

"I already told the cops everything about that," Mitch said, fidgeting slightly. "He was wearing a cloak. I never got a good look at his face."

"His?" Mulder said. "How do you know it was a male?"

"Too big to have been a female, and I've never seen a woman shred…."

"Why did it spare you?" Mulder said.

"I guess he felt that since he got what he came for, he didn't need to kill me."

"What did he come for?" asked Mulder.

"You already know all this crap!" Mitch said. "Why are you wasting my time? Not that I have anywhere else to be, but I don't know what you want from me."

"I want you to tell me how whatever attacked your men knew how to find you. I want you to tell me how this thing knows when Catherine Chandler is in danger. I want you to tell me everything you know about Chandler and her protector."

"You know, Mulder," Denton said, a smile appearing on his face, "I've often thought of telling someone the whole truth about what happened that night. When I first came here, I tried to tell a few people part of the truth, and I could tell you noticed their glances as we walked by. Until today, I never met anyone who looked like they might be crazy enough to believe my story. Mr. Mulder, you look like my kind of crazy."

Scully barely resisted rolling her eyes; she had a feeling she was in for a typical Mulder's-witness tall tale. Mitch Denton began unfolding his story of a world beneath the streets and skyscrapers of New York City, and Scully found herself unwittingly drawn in.

"These tunnels go everywhere," Denton said, spreading his hands out. "All over—or under, I guess I should say—the city. There are entrances everywhere, but they change periodically for security reasons. The people who live underground are social outcasts and misfits; I should know, since I grew up there. The biggest outcast is a freak of nature named Vincent. Actually, I don't know if he is a freak of nature or a freak of… somethin' else. He's half man, half beast, although I'm not sure there's even a fifty/fifty split. I would assume that you've seen pictures of his handiwork if you're here questioning me."

"You claim that…Vincent? Is that his name? Is some sort of, what? Mutant?" Scully asked.

"You think I don't know how crazy that sounds? I grew up with the freak, so I have a pretty good grasp of what he is. He's powerfully built; the men he killed were grunts, but they were muscle-heads with combat experience. You've seen what his claws can do. Why do you look so startled, Agent Scully? Yes, he has razor-sharp claws. How do you think all those corpses in those pretty pictures that were no doubt in your case file got those lovely slashes? He's a monster and a killer. I tried to stop him, but you see where that got me."

"So he came after you for no good reason?" Mulder asked.

"He came after that…woman," Denton said, choosing a more socially acceptable term. "Chandler. I can't tell you how, but he seemed to know exactly where she was. It's like they had some sort of…mental link. I dunno. When I…when she got shot, he went berserk. It was almost as if he could feel her pain. Maybe they have some sort of unnatural connection. I can't tell you any more about that."

"You've told us enough," Scully said, glancing at Mulder impatiently.

"You don't believe me, do you?" Mitch asked Scully. "Your partner does, though, at least a little. Oh yeah, one more thing. If you're ever taking a stroll in Central Park, remember to investigate a large storm drain. You never know what sort of adventure you might find."

"Why did you tell us things you wouldn't tell the police?" Scully asked, standing up.

"I guess I figured I wouldn't get anything out of it. I looked your partner in the eyes and figured that this was my best shot at finding someone who might believe me. Vincent needs to be stopped, and maybe your partner will be able to do something about him."

"Thank you for your help," Mulder said, following Scully towards the door.

"When you catch that freak, I'd appreciate it if you'd put in a good word for me," Denton said.

"That'll be at the top of my priority list," Mulder said.

XXX

"This is going to be the best Winterfest ever, isn't it, Daddy?" Jacob said, buttoning his shirt.

"Probably so, Jacob," Vincent said, kneeling in front of his son so he could tie Jacob's bowtie. "Everyone was concerned when Kanin found those loose rocks in the Great Hall walls; nobody wanted to contemplate losing such a beloved room."

"But Kanin fixed the rocks, didn't he, Daddy?" Jacob said, fidgeting as Vincent's clawed hands lost their grip on the bowtie.

"Yes, Jacob," Vincent replied, suppressing his frustration so it would not travel along the bond he shared with his son. "Kanin and the rest of us repaired the walls and determined that we would not lose the Great Hall."

"I'm glad, 'cause I wanna dance with my girlfriend in the Great Hall like you dance with Mommy."

"You don't have a girlfriend," Vincent said, almost growling aloud as the bowtie slipped out of his hands yet again. He contemplated suppressing his Bond with Catherine so she would not be able to sense his dark thoughts, but decided that their Bond had grown too strong.

"Someday I will," Jacob said.

"Why did you want to wear a bowtie, Jacob?" Vincent asked.

"Everyone wears a bowtie when they dress up," Jacob said.

"I'm not wearing a bowtie," Vincent said.

"Kermit wears a bowtie when he dresses up. So does Elmo. Donald Duck almost always wears a bowtie, and Mickey Mouse wears one sometimes, too. Some of the people Wishbone plays wear bowties. Those men in the old movies you and Mommy watch wear bowties."

Vincent smiled at his son's logic, but instinctively kept quiet.

"Daddy?" Jacob said, ducking his head like Vincent always did when he was embarrassed.

"Yes, Jacob?" Vincent said, glad he was successfully suppressing his end of their bond as he contemplated telling Jacob to forget the bowtie.

"That's not the only reason I wanted to wear a bowtie. When Mommy took me Above to have our picture taken, there was a family ahead of us with a little boy in it a little older than me. He was dressed in a black suit with a white shirt and a black bowtie; he looked so grown up. Is it wrong for me to want to look like someone from Above?"

Vincent dropped the bowtie and placed his large, clawed hands on his son's shoulders. "Don't ever be afraid to have a life Above. Your mother has worked hard to be a woman of both worlds because she loves us so much; it does not surprise me that you are curious about the world Above and about finding your place in that world. Besides, we humans are always imitating the fashions of others."

"Yes, _we humans_ are good at imitation," a feminine voice said from the chamber entrance.

Catherine entered, and Vincent was as speechless as he always was when his wife dressed up. The green dress was the same color as her eyes and accentuated yet hid the right places. Her crystal was around her neck like always, and the upsweep of her hair showed off the matching crystal earrings he had given her for Christmas.

Catherine picked the bowtie up and tied it around Jacob's neck. She straightened, grasped Vincent's hands in hers, and brought them to her lips. _Mine_, Vincent felt through the Bond. She released one of his hands but held onto the other as they walked towards the door, Caroline waiting for them outside the chamber in her own new Winterfest dress.

A/N: I could not resist the opportunity to have a Linda Hamilton character and a Robert Patrick character share a fight scene. My willpower has its limits…


	5. Chapter 5

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty & the Beast nor X-Files.

"What part of Mitch Denton's story do you not believe, Scully?" Mulder asked while driving to Catherine's house.

"What part of Mitch Denton's story _do_ you believe, Mulder?" Scully replied.

"Why would Mitch lie to us? What he said had the ring of truth to it. His story has a lot in common with Steven Bass's testimony; Bass even mentioned that Chandler called her protector 'Vincent.' Denton was just waiting for the right time to tell the story."

"He said he was looking for 'the right kind of crazy.' I get angry when our colleagues refer to you as 'crazy' or 'spooky,' but it does mildly concern me that a stranger took one look at you and thought, 'Hey! Here's my kind of crazy.'"

"What did he say that was impossible, Scully? Give me one example."

"Hmmm," Scully said, screwing up her face in mock concentration, "How about the assertion that there is a commune deep beneath New York City?"

"So you're saying that it's impossible that there are old, abandoned pipes and tunnels under New York City?" Mulder asked, grinning at Scully.

"There are documented reports of abandoned tunnels left over from subway construction, of old drainage tunnels, and of Prohibition-era tunnels used to access speakeasies, but those tunnels are referred to as 'abandoned' for a reason, Mulder."

"But if it's a documented fact that these tunnels exist, then it's not too large a leap from tunnel existence to tunnel population."

"Mulder, a community formed in these abandoned tunnels is highly improbable."

"But not impossible."

"Technically not impossible," Scully muttered.

"I guess you'll have to pick something else impossible from Denton's story," Mulder said.

"How about his description of Vincent?" Scully said.

"I guess it is impossible for human genes to mutate in such a manner," Mulder said. "We've never seen anything like that in our work on the X-Files."

"There are documented reports of genetic mutation, both natural and man-made. The Flukeman's case is evidence of genetic mutation through radiation exposure, and there are also documented cases of experimental genetics."  
"So it's not impossible that Vincent's appearance and abilities are the result of genetic mutation."

"If Vincent exists as Denton described him, then it is technically not impossible that genetic mutation could be responsible for his condition," Scully grudgingly agreed.

"So Vincent's existence is not impossible. Next problem with Denton's story, please," Mulder said.

"Surely you cannot explain this supposed connection or bond that Chandler is supposed to have with Vincent," Scully said.

"No, I can't explain it," Mulder said. "But that doesn't make it impossible."

"Come on, Mulder. Tell me about documented examples of two people sharing a mental and emotional connection through which one person could know immediately that the other is in trouble."

"Twins," Mulder said. "I had a friend in college whose twin sister went to school several states away. My friend started having severe health problems, and her twin called complaining of identical physical maladies that hadn't felt like her own."

"Perhaps their conditions were genetic, manifesting themselves at the same time in similar fashion. More importantly, I would deduce from Denton's story that Vincent and Catherine are not twins."

"Come on, Scully. Numerous societies have stories and legends about empaths, mind-linking, and telepathy. You know what they say about myths and legends stemming from a kernel of truth. The Vulcan mind meld might be based on scientific fact."

Scully stared at Mulder, an expression of disbelief on her face.

"You probably had plastic Spock ears as a child, didn't you?"

Mulder's silence confirmed her suspicion.

"I knew it! You probably had your own phaser, too."

"One of these days, Scully, I'm going to convince you to acknowledge the wonder of Star Trek."

"That's highly improbable."

"But not impossible."

"Not as impossible as convincing me of the existence of a commune living in abandoned tunnels and pipes under New York City with a mind-reading mutant who rescues damsels in distress."

"If I prove you wrong, would you watch an episode of Star Trek with me? We could watch one where Spock performs the Vulcan mind meld so you could analyze it with that magnificent scientific brain of yours."

"Or we could watch that one where Spock has his shirt off," Scully suggested, smirking at Mulder's stunned silence.

Having the ability to render Mulder speechless was highly improbable, Scully mused. But not impossible.

XXX

Catherine clutched her Winterfest candle tightly. The Chamber of the Winds was living up to its name, the wind trying to rip away everything and everyone standing before the double doors that led to the Great Hall.

Vincent strode toward the door, placing his massive hands beneath the heavy wooden bar keeping the doors closed. Removing the bar and opening the Great Hall doors used to require two strong men, but Father had bestowed that honor upon a teenaged Vincent.

Catherine never got tired of watching her husband heft the heavy plank of wood as easily as anyone else would lift a pole vault. She suppressed a sigh as she imagined Vincent's muscles rippling beneath his thick sweater. Vincent leaned the slab of wood against the stone wall beside the doors and turned around, quirking an eyebrow at Catherine. The Bond was obviously in full working order.

Placing one hand on each Great Hall door, Vincent pushed with the wind at his back. The doors slowly groaned open, and Vincent turned to face the crowd. He walked toward Catherine and his children, hand outstretched.

"Catherine. Will you walk with me into the dark?" Vincent said.

"When I am with you, there is no darkness," Catherine said, smiling and taking Vincent's hand.

Vincent led Catherine and his children into the Great Hall, completing the ritual that he and Catherine had done every Winterfest since her first one five years ago. As she walked to one of the long, wooden tables, Catherine decided that most of the things of which she never tired involved Vincent.

XXX

"How do you know so much about Star Trek, Scully?" Mulder asked, waiting for Catherine to answer the doorbell.

"Believe it or not, I did have friends growing up. One of them loved Star Trek, so I watched it whenever I went over to his house."

"So you've seen Star Trek, but you still don't like it?" Mulder asked.

"Yes and no, respectively."

"If I prove you wrong about this case, you have to watch Star Trek with me; you avoided giving me an official answer earlier. Maybe you just haven't watched Star Trek with the right person."

"Okay, Mulder," Scully said, "If you prove me wrong on every point of this case, I'll watch one episode of Star Trek with you. Given the long odds of that happening, I wouldn't look forward to anything better than your typical night alone on your couch."

"Ouch, Scully," Mulder said, clutching his chest, "That was a phaser burn to the heart."

"As much fun as this conversation has been, I think we should spend more time worrying about why Catherine Chandler isn't answering her doorbell. While it is late, she said she would stay here until the investigation was concluded. Do you suppose something happened?"

"Had something happened, one of the NYPD officers we talked to would have called. Maybe Catherine isn't here because she's underground in the tunnels. Maybe we should try to find her tunnel entrance ourselves," Mulder said, pulling a pouch out of a trench coat pocket and removing a flat, golden gun with a squat muzzle and a long, curving trigger.

"Mulder, what is that?" Scully asked.

"A Christmas present from the Lone Gunmen," Mulder said, fitting the sharp tip of the gun-shaped object inside the deadbolt keyhole.

Mulder pulled the trigger and Scully heard a metallic click. After placing the tool back in its pouch and slipping it back in his pocket, Mulder removed his wallet from another pocket and took out a credit card. He slipped the credit card between the regular lock and the doorjamb, enabling him to open Catherine's front door.

"Are you crazy?" Scully said, putting a hand on Mulder's sleeve. "We can't break into the house of one of the richest, most influential retired assistant DAs in New York City. If anyone in New York City law enforcement finds out about this…."

"I won't tell if you won't, Scully," Mulder said, grinning mischievously before stepping inside.

Scully reluctantly followed Mulder, shutting the door.

"Mulder, if Skinner ever finds out about this, he'll haul us into his office and dress us down."

"I wouldn't mind dressing you down, Scully," Mulder said, leering suggestively.

"Why do you never take these situations seriously? Do you want to give those pencil-pushing bureaucrats a fool-proof reason to separate us again? They might kick you out of the FBI and leave you with no way to search for the truth."

"Funny, Scully; I thought we were searching for the truth. Somewhere in the basement of this house is an entry to the tunnels Denton told us about. Vincent must have had some way to get in so quickly so he could rescue his…"

Scully looked at Mulder as he trailed off, recognizing that intense, faraway look he got when he started making connections that would leave her behind.

"His what?" Scully asked.

"Steven Bass claimed in his hospital testimony that Vincent and Catherine were romantically involved. I have been wary of accepting that aspect of Bass' testimony because I thought he might be trying to justify Catherine's rejection as romantic rather than general. What if Bass was right? What if Vincent and Catherine are lovers?"

"Can I add your 'Vincent and Catherine in love' theory to our Star Trek bet? Your couch is going to be awfully lonely."

"How can you not believe, Scully? Add Mitch Denton's testimony to Steven Bass's medical records; that's two witnesses."

"So the testimony of someone with a life sentence and a crazy story is supposed to change my mind. The passionate mental patient couldn't dent my skepticism, but the bitter felon just might tip the balance."

How about we go down to the basement so I can prove you wrong."

"By all means, Mulder," Scully said, following Mulder down the basement stairs.

"So where is this tunnel entrance?" Scully said, looking skeptically at the wine shelves built into the walls and the stacked boxes and crates along the far wall.

"Somewhere behind the wine shelves," Mulder said, bringing out the shard of glass he had found the previous day.

Deciding to humor him, Scully started looking around and behind wine bottles in search of anything that might trigger a secret entrance. Mulder ran his fingers over the wooden shelves, tugging at the corners and checking for movement.

"Mulder, look at this," Scully said, holding a wine bottle and gesturing toward the now empty bit of shelving.

Mulder bent over and peered into the gap left by the wine bottle, which had concealed what appeared to be a crude lever. He took the wine bottle from Scully's hand and replaced it on the shelf, hearing a clank as some sort of lock settled back into place. He removed the bottle of wine from the rack again and heard the lock disengage. Tugging on the sides of the shelf had no effect, so Mulder once again pulled out his special pouch.

"Please tell me the Gunmen packed a phaser," Scully said.

"No, but they did pack a latent print-detector."

In response to Scully's questioning face, Mulder put on a pair of orange goggles, handed a pair to Scully, and flicked a switch on what appeared to be an ordinary flashlight. A blue light shone out of the flashlight and revealed numerous fingerprints on and around the wine bottles.

"The Gunmen really know how to sweep a guy off his feet," Scully said.

"They believe in being prepared, and I'm glad of their paranoia at the moment. Notice those three bottles?" Mulder said, pointing to the bottle in Scully's hand plus two bottles stowed near the bottom and top of the shelf respectively that were covered in multiple sets of fingerprints.

"They form a **V**," Scully said. "Not that that means anything," she added.

"You're probably right, Scully," Mulder said. "It's just a coincidence. Maybe if I pull out this bottle near the bottom and this one near the top…."

More clanks sounded from behind the shelving, culminating in a groan as the door swung open into the basement.

"After you, Scully," Mulder said, bowing formally.

He straightened up and steadied Scully with his hand on the small of her back as they walked through the secret door. They stood side by side and turned on their flashlights, looking at what appeared to be an abandoned speakeasy.

They walked through the dirt toward the broken-down bar, looking into the cracked mirror behind it. A few bottles of whiskey still sat on shelving behind the bar, ready to be poured into the shot glasses and tumblers scattered over and around several decrepit round, wooden tables.

"The bottles," Scully said.

"You see it, too, Scully?" Mulder said.

"We both noticed how dust-free Catherine Chandler's wine bottles were yesterday, so I would naturally notice that these whiskey bottles are also dust-free. In fact, most of this furniture doesn't have any of the dirt and grime with which I would associate age and abandonment. We have surfaces in our basement office that have more dust on them than this furniture."

"This is quite a setup, though. Whoever put this together went to a lot of effort to fool us. I'll bet we'll find a tunnel hidden somewhere behind this set stage."

They searched all around the bar and tables, finally discovering a fairly wide tunnel hiding behind a tattered curtain. They shone their flashlights down the tunnel, which curved out of sight about a hundred feet away.

"Mulder…" Scully began, but was cut off.

"Why don't we skip this argument? You're going to tell me that we shouldn't go into the tunnel because it might be dangerous. I'm going to ask you where your sense of adventure is. You're going to mention law-breaking, Skinner's office, and how wrong you know I am. I'm going to tell you that I'm going regardless of whether you come or not, so you'll reluctantly come anyway because you know I usually end up in the hospital or prison when I leave you behind. And because you're the best partner I could ever ask for."

"Flattery will get you nowhere, Mulder," Scully said. "Speaking of getting nowhere, did the Gunmen happen to pack a roll of twine or a piece of chalk in that magic pouch? Because if we strike out on our own, we're going to get lost."

"Obviously, you failed to notice the multiple sets of footprints heading off down this tunnel that doesn't exist, perhaps toward this community that doesn't exist."

"We don't know whose footprints these are, Mulder. They could be years old for all we know."

"They look too fresh to—hey!" Mulder shouted, catching sight of a head of scruffy, dark hair and a blue baseball cap before it darted out of sight around the corner.

"Excuse me, sir?" Scully said, trotting more quickly in her heels than any woman Mulder had ever seen.

The person with the tangled hair and baseball cap made no reply, and was nowhere in sight when the agents rounded the corner. They looked at each other and shrugged, drawing their weapons and holding them in front of them with their flashlights. The mysterious figure reappeared at the end of the tunnel, barely in range of their beams. Mulder and Scully chased the elusive man, going deeper and deeper underground.


	6. Chapter 6

Disclaimer: I own neither the X-Fines nor Beauty & the Beast.

"Those records were locked up tighter than Father's face after losing yet another chess match," Rita said, cup of William's homemade wine in hand.

"Girlfriend, you don't wanna know what we had to do to find out what we did," Edie said, quaffing her wine at a faster pace than Rita.

"You're the best because you aren't afraid to bend the rules," Catherine said. "So what did you find out?"

"Agents Mulder and Scully were separated when the X-Files were shut down last year after a shady deal Scully made in exchange for Mulder's life went sour. Scully's name continued to appear on Mulder's reports, however; even assigning him a new partner didn't keep him away from Agent Scully. The only thing that kept Scully away from Mulder was being kidnapped and held prisoner for an indeterminate amount of time in an unknown location. After Scully's return, Assistant Director Walter Skinner reopened the X-Files for unknown reasons," Rita said.

"There are a lot of unknowns in that summary," Catherine said, looking around the Great Hall to make sure nobody was eavesdropping.

"Tell me about it," Edie said. "We managed to find some case reports written by Agent Scully, but they tell us more about how she and Sexy operate than about why she and Sexy are investigating Vincent. Look, Girlfriend. I'm not saying you should trust them, but if worst comes to worst, I think those two would give Vincent more of a chance than most FBI agents would."

"I got the feeling from our research that someone powerful was pulling the strings behind the scenes of the X-Files," Rita said. "Perhaps Mulder and Scully are here because someone with clout wants them here. If we can find out more, maybe we could convince Mulder and Scully that their strings are being pulled."

"Thanks for your help, ladies," Catherine said. "We'll talk later. Go enjoy the party; I think that group of gentlemen standing by the dance floor is waiting for you."

"Sorry we couldn't help you more, Girlfriend, but we just don't have the connections to find information this top secret," Edie said, turning around with Rita and heading off towards the dance floor.

Catherine instinctively turned toward Vincent and began walking in his direction. She looked around the Great Hall, smiling as she took in the scenes of unfolding gaiety. The dance floor was packed as it was every Winterfest, as were the food-laden tables. Clusters of people littered the Great Hall as Helpers caught up with Tunnels residents and with each other. Father was losing at chess as usual, his face as tight as Rita had predicted. A large crowd was gathered around William's casks of homemade wine, Vincent among them. And Agents Mulder and Scully were standing at the top of the stairs, eyes wide with shock.

Without showing any physical reaction, Catherine sent _Hide_ emotions to Vincent, who was fortunately on the other side of William's casks and thus out of the agents' line of vision. He melted into the shadows, a lifetime of experience with concealment allowing him to easily slip out of the main room and into a smaller one.

Nobody else had noticed the agents; the few who did probably assumed them to be new Helpers from the world Above who were taken aback at the size of the Tunnels world. Catherine made eye contact with Joe and Jenny Maxwell, who immediately strode through the crowd to Catherine's side. Joe wore his best protective scowl, while Jenny schooled her features into bland professionalism.

The agents slowly made their way down the stairs, Mulder holding his hand gently at the small of Scully's back. Catherine was mildly surprised that Scully did not slap his hand away, but she remembered seeing him do something similar the previous day. Mulder leaned over and whispered something in Scully's ear, earning him a glare that would have set fear in the heart of a lesser man.

"Good evening, Ms. Chandler," Mulder said as if he were presenting his invitation at the door. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a tall, skinny guy with curly, dark hair and a blue baseball cap, would you? We followed him down here, but seem to have lost him."

Catherine started at the mention of a blue baseball cap; could Kristopher Gentian be involved? That could possibly explain how Mulder and Scully had made it through Tunnels security unimpeded. She knew Vincent's theories about Kristopher, but she brushed them aside.

"I can see from your expression that you know who I'm talking about. Could you take us to him so we could thank him? He was an excellent guide."

"Or you could take us to Vincent, since he's the one Mulder drag…he's the one we came down here to see," Scully said.

"Vincent's not available right now," Catherine said in her most professional voice.

"Did he have some other pressing social engagement? Because this looks like the one event of the year that nobody down here misses. Denton told us about a celebration called Winterfest he remembers from childhood, but he said it usually took place during December," Mulder said.

"Mitch Denton is a bitter liar," Catherine said. "He blames us—blames me—for the consequences of his choices. Whatever Mitch told you about Vincent, it was a lie—or, at least, not the full truth."

"What is the full truth?" Mulder asked.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you," Catherine said.

"Try me. I might be your kind of crazy," Mulder said.

"Vincent could hide from you, you know," Catherine said. "He could go so deep inside the earth, so far beneath the surface that nobody would ever find him."

"But he won't," Mulder said. "His place is here, with these people. With you."

"How do you know so much about us?" Catherine asked, paling.

"I've learned to trust my instincts. You love him, don't you? You're protecting him, even now."

"Leave my daddy alone!" Jacob shouted, running toward Mulder.

He checked mid-stride, Catherine sending him negative emotions.

"Daddy?" Scully asked, her face turned away from Mulder's smirk.

"Vincent is my husband," Catherine said, accepting the inevitable and hoping Edie was right.

"How did you stop your son without looking at him?" Scully asked.

"We have a bond that allows us to feel one another's emotions," Catherine explained.

"Which explains how you were able to tell Vincent to leave before we saw him," Mulder said, grinning like a Cheshire cat.

"Yes," Catherine admitted. "Our Bond is unique; we are two halves of the same whole. We share everything; that is how he always knows when I'm in danger."

"We can watch that episode where Spock experiences _pon farr_," Mulder said to Scully. "That's one of my favorites."

"You haven't won your bet, Mulder. The conditions of the bet clearly state that you have to _prove_ me wrong on each point of this investigation. I have yet to see conclusive evidence of a bond or of Vincent's existence."

Catherine did not like the feelings she was receiving from Vincent, but she had learned to trust his perceptions.

"How did you find a threshold?" Joe said.

"You mean an entrance?" Mulder said. "I guess you could say I shot and bought our way in."

"So you admit to B 'n' E. I'm sure I could add vandalism charges too, maybe even attempted kidnapping. I don't usually mess with the Feds, but when you mess with mine…." Joe said, stopping only when Jenny put a hand on his arm.

"Joe, I had a dream about this. Darkness that is really light; light that is really darkness….We might not agree on the interpretation or validity of the dream, but you have to admit I'm rarely wrong in regards to the outcome."

"Good luck getting him to admit that," Mulder muttered, ignoring Scully's venomous glare.

"Shut up. Before I'm done with you—"

"Vincent wants to talk to them," Catherine said, cutting Joe off. "He believes them to be reasonable people who will come to understand the need for secrecy. Come this way, please."

"I'm willing to speak to anyone who refers to me as 'reasonable,'" Mulder said, following Catherine.

"Anyone who refers to you as 'reasonable' can't be a very good judge of character," Scully muttered.

"You're just upset that you have to snuggle up with me on my couch and watch Star Trek," Mulder said.

"Should you win the bet, I promised to _sit_ on your couch with you, Mulder, not _snuggle._ If you lay so much as one finger on me in an inappropriate manner, I'll demonstrate the Vulcan neck pinch in an anatomically correct fashion."

"Oh Scully, you don't know what it does to me when you talk that way," Mulder said.

"I apologize for my partner's lack of professionalism, Ms. Chandler," Scully said. "He is so captivated with this place that he's like a little boy on Christmas morning."

"Explaining me to the locals is part of Scully's job description," Mulder stage-whispered to Catherine.

"I understand. Our office is a tight-knit group and we sometimes forget that the rest of the world isn't in on the secret. Or secrets, I suppose I should say. Vincent's back here in this small chamber; I feel like I should prepare you for his appearance…."

"Mitch Denton already told us about Vincent's appearance, although he probably exaggerated," Mulder said. "Please believe me when I say there is no way your husband will be the strangest person we've met while investigating the X-Files."

Catherine relaxed slightly at Mulder's use of "person" to describe Vincent; reassurance from her husband flowed through the Bond. Her eyes found her husband in the dark, following her mental connection that had never lost track of his location. She tensed as the agents stepped further into the room.

XXX

The waves of anxiety radiating off the crowd in the Great Hall washed over him, but he repelled them with practiced ease. He might have been able to close the Bond and cut himself off from his wife's fear, but he never gave the idea serious thought. The presence of Catherine's fear was preferable to the emptiness of her absence from the Bond. Besides, he knew he had nothing to fear from their guests.

The petite woman with the red hair and strong, pointed jaw reminded him of his Catherine, especially in the way she faced him without fear. She was shocked at the fact of his existence and skeptical of his unusual abilities, but she did not flinch or wince when she saw his face.

The tall, lanky man with the boyish face and easy charm was a rarity: someone who embraced everything Vincent was from the beginning. Vincent felt not only acceptance but excitement and curiosity from the man. Not even his Catherine had embraced Vincent's nature that quickly or easily.

Vincent had watched and felt the agents interact as they had approached, and he could tell they had a strong, ever-growing bond of their own. While it was not a Bond like Vincent and Catherine's, everything from the witty banter to his feathery-light touch at the small of her back suggested a bond that had been strengthened by adversity and solid trust.

He stepped further into the light and grasped the man's hand.

"Vincent, this is Special Agent Fox Mulder and his partner, Special Agent Dana Scully," Catherine said.

He shook hands with Scully as well, chuckling softly at her smile as his huge hand engulfed her tiny one.

"I always knew someone like you would come. Every time I had to fight for my family increased the odds that someone would discover the truth. In all honesty, that's why Catherine has so many friends from Above who know about the Tunnels."

"My partner and I have been trying to figure out exactly why we were assigned this case," Scully said. "While we have no evidence of manipulation, we both feel that we were given this case by someone with an ulterior motive and a potentially hostile agenda. Perhaps this someone knows more about these tunnels than we were led to believe."

"My researchers feel that way as well," Catherine said. "They found some information through back channels that raised their eyebrows, and my girls have seen the worst of New York City."

"The flimsy excuse we were given involved the cop that was killed by the so-called Subway Slasher, but Scully analyzed some angles and proved that the policeman and the other subway victims were not killed by the same hands that killed others who attacked Catherine. Let's just say that I didn't find Skinner's reasoning kosher," Mulder said.

"The story of the Subway Slasher is a sad one," Vincent said in that soft, rough voice he knew others found soothing. "I can show you where he suffered the consequences of his actions."

"Dead?" Mulder asked.

"Yes, regrettably," Vincent said, ducking his head. "He found a Tunnels entrance and was holding Catherine hostage. I did what was necessary."

Mulder said nothing in response, although Vincent still did not sense hostility from him or his partner.

"We can leave the Great Hall through this side door; William sometimes uses it to prepare his legendary feasts. The Abyss is only a few minutes away; we could also visit the Chamber of the Falls."

"How large is your world?" Scully asked. "How far do these tunnels go?"

"Nobody knows," Vincent answered, leading the way. "Mouse and I have explored tunnels and caves miles from here, miles below the Great Hall. We have a main hub and surrounding locations we refer to as Tunnels, but there are still uncharted tunnels outside of Tunnels."

"Be sure to stay close to us," Catherine said, walking hand-in-hand with her husband. "Navigating Tunnels is overwhelming at first. I can find the Abyss, the Chamber of the Falls, and the Mirror Pool with my eyes closed, but when I first met Vincent, I was helpless. And don't get me started on pipe code."

"Pipe code?" Mulder said.

"The pipes are quiet now because everyone is at Winterfest, but on an average day, the pipes will be ringing with tapped-out messages banged out in our own code. We each have unique name patterns and everyone knows at least the emergency codes. While it is considered bad form to eavesdrop on others' messages, Tunnels residents become so used to automatically decoding pipe messages that they can't help but overhear the latest gossip," Catherine explained.

"Uncharted tunnels, pipe code, monsters that aren't monsters, places with cool-sounding names…."

"Breathe, Mulder," Scully said. "And yes, we do have to return to D.C."

"You're such a wet blanket, Scully," Mulder said. "All this wonder around you and you're already thinking about D.C. and what we're going to tell Skinner. Of course, given some of the details you've fudged in our previous reports, I can't blame you for getting a head start."

"You had better be glad for those fudged details, Mulder," Scully said. "They are probably the reason the X-Files are still open. And the fact that Skinner is tired of being lied to by the Smoking Man."

"Smoking Man?" Vincent asked.

"You don't want to know," Mulder said, his hand finding its usual place at the small of Scully's back as she stumbled slightly in her heels.

"I'm fine, Mulder," Scully said.

"You always say that, and it's always a lie," Mulder said.

"Not this time."

"We're almost at the Abyss," Vincent said.

They came to an opening in the tunnel wall that went on for a few yards before reaching a rickety, wooden plank bridge that ended at an enormous, man-made rock pillar that went down farther than the eye could see. Several similar bridges jutted out at lower levels and at different angles, all attached to the pillar. The bridges had frayed rope guardrails attached to decrepit wooden and steel posts; only the yard-long planks and waist-high ropes separated anyone standing on the bridge from a potentially bottomless plunge into darkness and mist.

"Is it safe?" Scully asked, eyeing the bridge with obvious trepidation.

"Not safe, but good," Vincent said, surprising himself at the ease with which he made the joke. Mulder and Scully's soft laughter told him they were surprised, too.

"I suppose you probably have to explain to the Tunnels children that you're not actually Aslan," Scully said.

"I'm not sure that some of the younger ones believe me," he said, leading the way onto the bridge.

"Are you sure it will hold our combined weight?" Scully asked.

"Tunnels children grow up playing here; my brother and I used to do handstands and backflips on this bridge. Not that we ever told Father that. Just make sure you don't catch your heels on any holes."

Mulder put his hand on the small of Scully's back and angled his body slightly in front of hers so he would catch her if she stumbled. Scully was awed by the view, but Vincent could feel her uneasiness. From Mulder, Vincent sensed fascination and excitement.

"…bring in the groceries, dear?" a woman's voice suddenly said, seemingly from nowhere.

"Taxi! Taxi!" a man's voice shouted.

"…tell Mommy about your magazines…" a little girl's voice said.

"Something about the acoustics of this place makes it possible for us to hear snippets of conversation from Above. As you can tell, we cannot always hear the world Above; perhaps the direction of the wind affects how much we can hear," Vincent explained.

Mulder tripped and lurched forward, causing Scully to cry out in alarm and to wrap her arms around him to help him regain his balance. To her indignation, he started to laugh.

"I hoped you would do that if I pretended to trip," Mulder said, leering down at her.

"Tricks are the only way you can get me to hold you in my arms," Scully retorted, pushing Mulder away.

"Careful, woman!" Mulder said. "Do you want to be responsible for causing me to plunge into the Abyss?"

"You don't want me to answer that," Scully said. "Besides, it's my job to pull you back from the Abyss, not push you into it."

"And you do a better job of that than anyone else ever has," Mulder said. "Why don't you go see those falls Catherine mentioned? I want to stay here with Vincent and contemplate the Abyss."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Scully asked.

"You have nothing to fear from Vincent," Catherine said defensively.

"That's not what I meant," Scully said. "It's just that every time Mulder and I are separated, one of us ends up near death."  
"It makes using the bathroom difficult," Mulder said.

"On second thought, maybe we could do with some time apart," Scully said.

"The Falls are only a few minutes away; we could spend a little time there and meet back at the Great Hall so you can experience Winterfest," Catherine said, walking off the rickety bridge.

Vincent smiled as he watched the ladies go; he knew Scully was leaving Mulder not out of pique or fear but because she figured they could work—for they were still working—better separated than together. He turned to Mulder, who had already sat down on the bridge, dangling his feet over the side above the Abyss.


	7. Chapter 7

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty & the Beast nor X-Files.

Scully gazed at the tall waterfalls cascading over gray rock. She walked along the edge of the rocks across from the falls, treading carefully to avoid falling off the precipice. Catherine led the way to a well-worn rock Scully assumed was the main bench.

'How is this place possible?" Scully said. "Not just the Falls, but your whole world."

"Nobody knows who made these tunnels," Catherine said. "Some were made during subway construction and others were constructed during Prohibition, but most of them were made by unknown people untold generations ago."

"How is Vincent possible?" Scully asked.

"Nobody knows," Catherine said. "Not even Vincent. We've been told lies and have guessed at the truth, but we've both accepted that he'll never know the full circumstances of his birth."

Scully nodded, Catherine's answer confirming the validity of her decision to leave Mulder with Vincent and to talk with Catherine herself. As unique and mysterious as Vincent was, Scully had already accepted his existence. His genes had clearly been mutated _in_ _utero_, either by nature or by man. Mulder was excited about meeting someone like Vincent, but to Scully, Catherine was the real mystery.

"How did you and Vincent meet?" Scully asked.

"'What's a girl like me doing in a place like this?'" Catherine said.

"I ask myself that question every morning I report to the basement office," Scully said. "But I really would be interested in hearing your story."

"I would assume you've read my dossier in your case file, so I'll cut straight to the parts that are off the record. Vincent rescued me after my face was mutilated; our Bond began forming even then. Those 'missing' ten days are not missing at all, although I can't tell anyone Above that."

"Except your closest friends," Scully said.

"It would be hard explaining to acquaintances why I can't bring my husband to a dinner party," Catherine said.

"Try explaining to potential boyfriends over dinner that you chase monsters and aliens for a living," Scully said.

"Do you believe in monsters and aliens?" Catherine asked.

"I believe there are scientific answers to every problem, although those answers are not always easy or possible to find. For example, some would call Vincent a monster, but he's merely a man whose genes were mutated before birth. As for aliens, I'm more inclined to blame my abduction on the government than on little gray men."  
"Abduction? That's an interesting term to use. And what do you mean by gray men?" Catherine asked.

"Several months ago, I was kidnapped by a man claiming to be an alien abductee; he believed offering me as a replacement would prevent him from being retaken. Mulder almost reached me in time, but he was too late. While I have read the report about his rescue attempt and know there was nothing more he could have done, I know he has yet to forgive himself for failing to save me. I do not remember who kidnapped and imprisoned me after I was taken from the mountaintop, nor do I remember much about the experiments conducted on me.

While I disagree with Mulder about the existence of extraterrestrials, I have acquired his habit of referring to aliens as gray instead of green men. If you want to know the particulars of alien skin pigmentation, I'm the wrong person to ask."

"I'm sorry," Catherine said. "I know how terrifying it is to be kidnapped. You can probably guess the truth about why Gabriel wanted my son; he thought my child would have Vincent's abilities. Being held prisoner for six months, being isolated from everyone I loved except the baby growing inside of me made me realize that no job was worth giving up the man I loved."

"Sometimes I feel like my job has abducted my life," Scully said, staring at the waterfalls. "Not only does the nature of my work complicate table talk, but Mulder often calls me in the middle of the night so he can whisk me away on yet another unusual case in our never-ending search for the Truth."

"Why did you return to the X-Files after they were shut down? You had a nice, safe job at Quantico teaching recruits and conducting autopsies. What made you give that up?"

"When I was reassigned to Quantico after working with Mulder for a year, I discovered that my old job was not as exciting as I once believed it to be. Not that it was boring; I am a good teacher and I enjoy discovering forensic truths. But after catching liver-eating mutants and serial killers, teaching a bunch of green recruits lacked the thrill I felt when I was with…the X-Files," Scully said.

_How did we get off-topic anyway? _Scully asked herself. _Her reputation as an excellent prosecutor is well-earned; she's leading me like a prize witness. _

"I understand how you became addicted to the thrill of field work," Catherine said. "There is something about chasing down leads, investigating crime scenes, and puzzling out answers that makes research and trial preparation seem boring in comparison."

"Yet you gave all that up so you could pursue a life with Vincent," Scully said.

"Yes, but look what I gained," Catherine said. "I help more people now than I did as an investigator. Instead of prosecuting criminals, I help stop people from becoming criminals. Instead of getting into situations that require Vincent to harm others to protect me, I help others escape abusive situations. Instead of busting gangsters, I help young men and women find better options. Not that I disrespect the work I did or the work you do, but my work now is even more fulfilling than the work I used to do. Just don't tell Joe I said that."

"So you gained a better job and a family that loves you," Scully said. "I always thought I wanted those things, but a happy family and the X-Files seem mutually exclusive. Not that I don't have a wonderful biological family; I am close to my mother and my siblings, especially my older sister. My father passed away about a year ago, and I miss him more than I can say."

"I was a daddy's girl, too," Catherine said. "I worked at his corporate law firm for a few years before I joined the DA's office. I went into law because my father wanted me to; he was disappointed in my decision to leave his firm, but he was still proud of me and my work."

"My dad highly disapproved of my decision to give up a career in medicine for the FBI. I never told him about the questionable relationship I was in at the time; I haven't even told Mulder the full truth about my decision. Let's just say that discovering my status as the dreaded 'other woman' prompted a reevaluation of my goals and priorities. I never expected to be assigned to the X-Files when I joined the FBI, but after having briefly returned to teaching and autopsying at Quantico, I'm positive I made the right decision to return to the X-Files."

"Right after he died, I had a dream about my father," Catherine said. "At least I tell myself it was a dream; Vincent believes it was a vision. Dad was wearing a red clown nose he used to wear when I was a child in need of cheering up. He told me that he had been conscious when Vincent and I had visited his hospital room before his death, that he was proud of me, and that he approved of my relationship with Vincent. Whether or not it actually happened, my father's visit brought me comfort."

"When I was dying from the wounds I suffered during my abduction, I dreamed of my father. He was in his white admiral's uniform, every inch the Navy man. He told me that he was proud of me and that it was not yet my time to die. My scientific mind tells me to dismiss it as wish fulfillment and the product of a dying mind, but sometimes in the middle of the night…."

Scully trailed off, unsure why she felt so comfortable telling Catherine Chandler these intimate details. Her husband was still a suspect in a murder investigation, and Scully had never made a habit of confiding in strangers. She trusted Mulder more than she trusted anyone outside her biological family, but she had not told him everything she was telling Catherine.

"When my father died, I realized that I was alone. My mother died when I was just a girl and I had no siblings. Vincent, my children, and the Tunnels community became my family. Even Father warmed up to me; he felt for the longest time that I would abandon Vincent and bring him nothing but unhappiness. I discovered my current home Above while looking through my father's holdings; after my kidnapping and the birth of my son, insurmountable impossibilities turned into workable difficulties."

"My brother dislikes Mulder; he believes that Mulder endangers my life and my career. Mom loves Mulder, though; she's the only person I know besides my sister who gets away with calling him 'Fox.' I called him that once during a serious conversation, and he laughed at me. Of course, Mulder's good at derailing serious moments."

"Do you love him?" Catherine asked softly.

"Of course I love him," Scully said. "He has saved my life numerous times. He appreciates me and respects my opinions even when he disagrees with them. When I was dying, he refused to give up on me. I may not have held him in my arms and professed my never-ending love, but I did fly all the way to Puerto Rico to rescue him from a government clean-up team. I flew all the way to Alaska and took over a surgeon's operating room to save him from a retrovirus. When he called to me near death from life, I returned to him because I had the strength of his beliefs. While the details of our relationship would disappoint our colleagues, they are satisfactory to us. We both desire more than anything to uncover the Truth. Together."

"I didn't mean to upset you," Catherine said. "I'm sorry. I couldn't help but notice how close you two seem to be…I guess I should know better since I know what it's like to be a woman in a field dominated by men."

"They call me 'Mrs. Spooky," Scully said. "Many of our colleagues began to call Mulder 'Spooky' as a compliment about his profiling skills, but it became pejorative once he started pursuing the paranormal. One of my exes told me that he could use his so-called clout—of which I never saw evidence—to get me off the X-Files so I 'wouldn't have to be Mrs. Spooky anymore.' But in that moment, I realized that I would much rather search out the Truth with Mulder than date and marry a weasel like Colton."

"How did Mulder react to your ex?" Catherine asked.

"He was very territorial," Scully said. "Not that that proves he's madly in love with me; his animosity was strictly professional. Mulder didn't appreciate my ex stealing his criminal profile to solve the case. He's protective of me like any good partner should be."

"I worked with others sometimes, but I never had a partner. Unless you count Vincent. I know you were sent here to track him down, but you said yourself that you know he's not the Subway Slasher. Vincent only killed people who attacked me and who refused to back down. From what you've told me and from what I've read, you've had to kill to protect Mulder, and he's had to do the same for you. You have your tall, dark protector; I have mine. Your protector happens to carry a badge and gun while mine has to skulk in the shadows. My protector also doesn't have to protect me much anymore; Friday was the first time Vincent has had to kill since he rescued me from Gabriel."

"I doubt I could convince Mulder to arrest Vincent even if I wanted to. Our assignment to this case still feels like a setup; your coworkers' corroboration of that theory strengthens my own opinion. Mulder and I will try to find out who wants Vincent and why, as well as a way to convince those people to leave you alone."

"Thank you, Scully," Catherine said. "Vincent knew you could be trusted; he can read people's emotions. I know you're skeptical of such things, but my relationship with Vincent has taught me that not everything can be explained logically."

"Last week, Mulder and I investigated murders that occurred in a circus community. One of the circus performers told me that some mysteries were never meant to be explained, that nature cannot go long without producing a mutant. He also said that scientists wanted to do away with people like him and make everyone as handsome as Mulder. Not that I think Mulder is handsome. I mean, he is, but I don't see him that way. You know what I mean."

_Smooth, Scully. Way to convince her of your professional detachment. Of course, when your husband is an empath…not that I believe he is…._

"Of course," Catherine said. "Just make sure you don't make the same mistakes I did. I had to come close to losing not only the man I love but also my own son before I realized the future I could have. Relationships change with time, as do our perceptions of others. Don't let your job consume you and everything you love. Father once told Vincent that, 'there is a truth beyond knowledge.' In your search for the Truth, make sure you don't miss the truths that are right in front of you."

"Thank you, Catherine," Scully said. "I wouldn't take that kind of speech from many people, but given your experiences…I think I'd better get back to my partner; he has a nasty habit of tripping into the abyss."

"Which is why you have to be there to hold onto him, even to the edge of doom," Catherine said.

"That last part sounds familiar; I know I've read that somewhere. Shakespeare?" Scully said, standing up and taking one last look at the magnificent falls.

Catherine just smiled; had Scully accepted the validity of Catherine and Vincent's connection, she would have believed Catherine was telling Vincent something, although she figured that Catherine would not give away any secrets.

XXX

Mulder smiled as he watched Scully leave the bridge with Catherine. He knew she had stayed so long on the bridge because she had observed how the Abyss resonated with Mulder. In Vincent, Mulder sensed a kindred spirit who appreciated the excellent brooding opportunities presented by the Abyss.

"Want some?" Mulder asked Vincent, pulling a fresh bag of sunflower seeds out of a jacket pocket.

"Yes, please," Vincent said, taking the proffered bag. "I haven't had these since I was a boy."

Mulder pulled out another bag; he never traveled without a spare. He and Vincent opened their bags, each popping a seed in his mouth. Mulder savored the feel of the hull on his molars as he cracked it open and tasted the delicious meat inside. He spat the hull over the rope into the Abyss, watching in fascination as it tumbled end over end and finally out of sight.

"Who made this place?" Mulder asked, looking raptly up at the vaulted ceiling and at the other bridges that were accessible from other areas of the Tunnels.

"Nobody knows who shaped most of the Tunnels," Vincent replied. "Except for those few chambers we have carved ourselves, the original Tunnels constructors are a mystery."

"Like you," Mulder said, eating another sunflower seed.

"Yes," Vincent answered softly. "My constructors are also a mystery. Catherine helped me accept myself, though; she has taught me that where I came from isn't nearly as important as who I am."

"In other words, she makes being a basement-dweller not only bearable, but preferable," Mulder said.

"Exactly," Vincent said. "While I have often wished that Catherine and I could have a normal life Above, I cannot deny the rewards of the life we have built together. As difficult as it has been to experience the hardships, the difficulties cannot compare to our mutual joy."

"Did you ever worry that she wouldn't want to give up the chance at a normal life with a normal man? Catherine seems like the type of woman who could ascend to the stars if she put her mind to it."

Vincent's gruff, velvety chuckle echoed off the walls and arched ceiling.

"What do you think kept us apart for three years? I was convinced I could never tie Catherine to a world of darkness and limitation, while she was convinced she could never be happy without me. I kept driving her away; she kept returning. Three years of that routine were almost the death of us—literally."

"So Catherine chose to come back to you even though she had chances to leave. She could've married a rich, handsome man and raised the requisite 2.5 children in a stately mansion. She could've continued climbing the proverbial ladder of success, climbing it all the way to public office. She could've had a normal, happy life. Yet she chose the basement. Why did Catherine come back to you, Vincent?"

"Because she loves me," Vincent replied. "Because she believes in our love. She loves making the impossible possible, making the extraordinary ordinary. She realizes we share an unbreakable Bond that has only strengthened with time. Catherine sees that together, we can do extraordinary things, things that have never been but should be. Even though we cannot be physically together in public Above, the strength of our Bond is such that I am always with her. She knows that no matter her location, no matter how great the danger, I will always find her. Always."

"You will always find her, always rescue her. With deadly force, if necessary," Mulder said.

"I know that's why you came," Vincent said, "but I sense in you a willingness to listen, a willingness to pursue the truth. I swear to you that I have only killed in self-defense or in defense of Catherine, which is the same thing. Everything she feels, I feel. If she is stabbed, I feel the pain in my own body, in my own mind. When she is being strangled, I cannot breathe. When her mind burns with terror, mine burns with anger. In the days before Catherine helped me better my self-control, I would go into a rage. However, I never initiated an attack and I often gave the attackers a chance to flee. Every death ate at me, tore away another piece of my heart until it nearly stopped beating. Catherine pulled me back; she pulled me back from the abyss."

"But she was also part of what drove you to kill," Mulder said. "Your drive to protect her was so strong that you would do anything to save her. If you had never met Catherine, then you wouldn't have had to kill so many times to protect her."

"I suppose it is easier to work alone," Vincent said, looking knowingly at Mulder.

"We're supposed to be talking about you," Mulder said.

"Are we?" Vincent asked, cocking his head.

"Are you accusing me of having a crush on Catherine?" Mulder asked, grinning around his latest sunflower seed.

"I'm accusing you of identifying with everything I've said about Catherine," Vincent said. "The look on your face as you described a woman who could have left me for a normal life but who chose to live in the basement….It told me everything I needed to know."

"Which is what?" Mulder asked, looking down into the Abyss. "That I'm madly in love with Agent Scully? That I expect her to jump into my arms, confess her never-ending love for me, and get a running start on those 2.5 kids? Not that that would ever happen."

"Because she does not love you?" Vincent asked.

"Not romantically," Mulder said. "Besides, she won't walk away from our partnership, from our work. When she was abducted, I realized I had failed to tell Scully the danger working with me posed. When she returned to me…I should've pushed her away more forcefully."

"Does the fact that she refuses to take herself out of harm's way bother you?" Vincent said.

"Of course it bothers me!" Mulder said, jumping to his feet. "The only reason she was taken was to strike out at me. They gave me Scully to tear me down, but when that didn't work, they took her from me to accomplish the same thing. So now she has to live with the loss of security, the feeling of violation that comes with abduction. I don't know how she can stand to look at me, much less work with me."

"You misinterpreted my question, but I believe it was an unfair question to ask. I can read the emotions of those around me; I know how much you care for Scully."

"That's cheating," Mulder said. "Of course, I'm not entirely sure of my feelings for Scully, so I doubt you can figure them out."

"I know how I felt when Catherine disappeared," Vincent said, looking down into the Abyss. "I searched relentlessly every night, prowling the city streets. I left at the first moment of true dark and sought answers until the last moment before dawn. I didn't eat. I didn't sleep. I wasted away. I was afraid of failure, but I was also afraid of success. What would success look like? Would I find her alive? Would she still love me? Would she forgive me for arriving too late?"

"Too late?" Mulder asked, sitting back down beside Vincent.

"I almost rescued her not long after she disappeared, but Gabriel whisked her away at the last minute. Our Bond had been dissolved in the wake of my breakdown, so I could not follow her through sense. I almost hurled myself into the Abyss that night, but I knew I had to continue searching as long as Catherine was alive."

"Too late," Mulder whispered. "I was too late. I crested the hill right after the ship took her…I was too late."

"Does Scully blame you?" Vincent asked.

"Does Catherine blame you?" Mulder fired back.

"Our women seem to have an extraordinary capacity for forgiveness," Vincent said.

Mulder nodded before catching onto Vincent's trick.

"Not that Scully is 'my woman,'" Mulder said. "She's my partner, and I plan to keep her that way. I've never been afraid to buck Bureau policy, but I don't want to do anything that could give them just cause to take Scully from me again. When she was gone…I did things I'm not proud of. Part of me was missing; I hadn't felt that lost since my sister was taken from me when I was twelve. Then Scully was returned to me, and I realized that I work so much better when she's with me. I'm not willing to jeopardize our friendship and our partnership for romance. Besides, we don't see each other that way."

"I once told Catherine that I loved her so much because, while others had tried to tame my wildness, she harnessed it. She does not deny the existence of my passion and my protectiveness; she somehow contains and focuses them."

"Scully harnesses the best and the worst of me," Mulder said. "Without her, my passion and drive are unfocused. She often disagrees with my theories, but she always helps me find the right path. She forces me to back up my theories with facts, although I can't always do so to her satisfaction. Even when I run off in search of the Truth without her, she always tracks me down and saves me."

"That sounds like love to me," Vincent said.

"I never said Scully and I don't love each other," Mulder said. "She always comes back to me, even though I'm always trying to push her away while pulling her close. She has fought for my life, and I have fought for hers. She's the only person I trust completely, the only person who respects me. She has given me so much, while I have given her so little. She could've been on her way to an upper office by now, but she chose to return to the basement. I love Scully as a…since you're an empath, maybe you can figure out our relationship. But I can't lose Scully as a partner again. I need her, Vincent. I need her to pull me back from the abyss when the Truth I've been seeking for so long threatens to consume me."

"You mentioned losing your sister," Vincent said.

"Samantha," Mulder said. "She was abducted by aliens when I was twelve. I know you probably don't believe me, but I know you'll sense that I believe. Scully doesn't believe me, either, yet she's committed to helping me find Samantha. Scully would go to the ends of the earth with me if she thought it would lead to the Truth."

"She is a remarkable woman," Vincent said. "Is there anything you would not do to protect her?"

Mulder looked into the swirling depths of the Abyss, considering his response. He knew the proper answer, especially since he heard Vincent's true question. He spat out another hull and watched it shrink away to nothing as it fell into the void.

Mulder thought of that night a few months ago, the night he'd spent sitting in a chair in front of his door, waiting in the shadows. Waiting with a gun in his hand for the man who was responsible for Scully's abduction, the man who had been set up by Mulder's informant. While Scully's sister had pulled him back from the edge, Mulder had been willing to shed blood not to save Scully's life, but to avenge her upcoming death.

Mulder crumpled his sunflower seed bag and tossed it away. He told the truth.

"No."

Vincent tucked his empty bag into an unseen pocket; maybe the Abyss was not meant to be utilized as a bottomless garbage pit. Both of them stared into the Abyss awhile longer. Without looking at Mulder, Vincent spoke into the swirling darkness.

"I had to nearly lose not only the woman I love but also my own son before I finally realized the truth. In your pursuit of the Truth, don't miss the truth that goes beyond knowledge, as Father once said to me. Don't make the same mistakes I did. Always trust Scully; she will follow you anywhere, even to the edge of doom."

"That sounds familiar," Mulder said. "Shakespeare?"

"He knew everything," Vincent said.

"Thanks for your advice," Mulder said.

"I'm always willing to serve as a cautionary tale," Vincent said.

"I don't suppose I have to ask you to keep my secrets," Mulder said.

"I'll keep your secrets if you'll keep mine," Vincent said.

Mulder looked Vincent in the eye; intense hazel met piercing blue.

"Deal," Mulder said, shaking Vincent's hand. "I would like to get back to my partner. She has an irritating habit of disappearing whenever I let her out of my sight."

"Let's go back to the Great Hall so we can enjoy Winterfest," Vincent said, leading the way.

Vincent smiled, and Mulder could see he was telling Catherine something. Mulder had implied to Vincent that he was not going to turn him in because he believed him to be innocent and within his rights as Catherine's protector to keep her safe. He hadn't told Vincent the full truth, however; he hoped the empath would never guess the third reason for Mulder's silence. The truth was that Mulder did not want to be responsible for destroying the relationship Vincent and Catherine had built. He wanted to believe in the possibility that an intelligent, beautiful, successful woman would choose the brooding, outcast basement-dweller over a normal, happy life in the world Above.

_I want to believe,_ Mulder thought as he followed Vincent into the Tunnels.


	8. Chapter 8

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty & the Beast nor X-Files.

A/N: Whenever words are italicized and placed within these symbols { }, they are representing the emotions of others that Vincent is relaying through the Bond to Catherine. Whenever words are italicized and placed within these symbols , they are representing Vincent or Catherine's own feelings sent to one another through the Bond.

Catherine loved the way Vincent's arms gripped her as they danced. Their Bond flowed most freely when they were in close physical proximity to one another, allowing Catherine to sense Vincent's emotions and, in limited fashion, those of others. While she was not able to feel others' emotions directly, Vincent could send Catherine imitations of the emotions of others through the Bond.

Vincent smiled as he sent Catherine what she instinctively knew to be Mulder and Scully's emotions, or Vincent's reproduction of them.

She saw Mulder put his hand at the small of Scully's back and gently push her toward William and his casks of homemade wine.

{_flirtatiousness, affection}_

Scully shook her head, pretending to glare at Mulder.

{_anticipation, affection_}

He leaned over to whisper something in her ear, and Scully relented, accepting a goblet of wine.

{_acceptance, excitement, good humor}_

The hodge-podge symphony struck up a faster tune, so Vincent and Catherine adjusted accordingly. For a few minutes, they enjoyed each other's company and the Bond flowed with love and happiness.

Catherine noticed Scully talking to Peter, goblet in hand. Peter finished a story, and Scully laughed.

_mischievous glee_

Vincent sent his own emotion.

_resignation, good humor_

Catherine replied.

Vincent saw Mulder and Mouse standing in a corner and wearing orange glasses. Mulder pulled out what looked like a flashlight and shone a blue light on Mouse's glass, revealing finger and lip prints.

{_awe, undying affection, fascination_}

Vincent sent to Catherine.

{_amusement, brotherly affection_}

Vincent also sent.

Jamie walked up to Mouse and Mulder and dutifully examined the goblet, borrowing Mouse's goggles.

{_polite interest, nervousness, determination_}

She handed the goggles to Mulder and put a hand on one of Mouse's arms, saying something. Mouse's grin stretched across his entire face, and he grabbed Jamie's free hand, dragging her to the dance floor.

{_elation, fear, anticipation, romantic love_}

Vincent sent.

_Who?_

Catherine sent.

_Both_

Vincent replied.

_understanding, accord?_

Catherine asked.

_no_

Vincent replied.

"Samantha?" Vincent heard Mulder say from his place in a group of young women.

Vincent flinched as he felt negative emotions that seemed out of place at Winterfest.

{_sorrow, loss, guilt, embarrassment}_

He sent instinctively.

_What?_

Catherine sent.

_ uncertainty_

Vincent replied, dancing closer to Mulder.

Catherine smiled as Scully appeared at Mulder's side in an instant, looking up at him.

{_concern, puzzlement_}

Vincent sent.

Vincent heard Mulder mutter something that ended with "Samantha" and saw realization hit Scully the same instant it hit him.

{_pity, protectiveness, affection}_

Vincent sent.

_brotherly affection, loss, fear, guilt_

Vincent sent, hoping Catherine would understand.

_intensity, passion, motivation?_

Catherine asked.

_yes_

Vincent replied.

Mulder bent low and whispered something in Scully's ear. Her eyes grew wide, but she shielded her emotions from everyone but Vincent.

{_shock, uncertainty, reluctance, determination_}

Vincent sent.

Scully nodded, set her and Mulder's goblets on a table, and allowed Mulder to lead her to the dance floor.

{_trepidation, anticipation, affection_}

Vincent sent.

_Who?_

Catherine asked.

_both_

Vincent sent.

The symphony struck up a waltz, so all the dancers took appropriate positions. Vincent led Catherine closer to the agents so he and Catherine could shamelessly eavesdrop on their conversation.

"When was the last time you danced like this, Scully?" Mulder asked.

{_bravado, nervousness_}

Vincent sent.

"Bill and Tara's wedding," Scully replied.

{_self-consciousness, irritation_}

Vincent sent.

Maybe we could tell AD Skinner he needs to head a box step proficiency class as part of FBI training," Mulder said.

{_humor, distraction_}

Vincent sent.

"When he asks us where we got the idea, we can tell him that you thought of it while the two of us were dancing miles beneath New York City in a candlelit mead hall teeming with people who look like they're straight out of a Ren Faire. I think Skinner would go for it," Scully said.

{_humor, distraction_}

Vincent sent.

"So what are we going to tell Skinner?" Mulder asked.

{_apprehension_}

Vincent sent.

"You talked to Vincent," Scully said. "Since you didn't lead him back here in handcuffs, I'm assuming you reached the conclusion of his innocence."

"You talked to Catherine," Mulder said. "Since you didn't lead her back here in handcuffs, I'm assuming you reached the conclusion of her innocence."

{_mischief, humor, slight irritation_}

Vincent sent.

"Given the facts we know, I'm still wary about our assignment to this case. While we now know it to be an X-File, I've felt uncomfortable about this case from the beginning. I don't usually value feelings and instincts over facts, but I still believe that whoever assigned us this case has an agenda," Scully said.

{_nervousness, perplexity_}

Vincent sent.

"I can't arrest him, Scully," Mulder said, unconsciously holding her tighter. "The things he told me…He was protecting the woman he loves. He would do anything to keep her safe. If I arrest him, you'll have to arrest me."

{_love, protectiveness, fear, concealment, affection, passion_}

Vincent sent.

"Not that I would object to your handcuffing me," Mulder said.

{_desperation_}

Vincent sent.

"Catherine verified Vincent's innocence," Scully said.

{_concealment, affection, uncertainty_}

"So we tell Skinner we investigated and ran into a dead end?" Mulder said.

"I'll fudge some details in my report like I always do," Scully said.

{_humor, slight pique_}

Vincent sent.

Mouse and Jamie danced closer to Vincent and Catherine; Mouse was indignantly gesturing and dancing at the same time.

"…in love! Mouse can see it! Jamie can see it! Vincent and Vincent's Catherine can see it! Why Mulder and Scully not see it?"

"Sometimes people can recognize other people's love more easily than their own," Jamie said.

{_patience, impatience, frustration, romantic love_}

Vincent sent.

"So obvious," Mouse muttered, scowling at Mulder and Scully.

"Yes," Jamie whispered. "So obvious."

_familiarity_

Catherine sent.

_indignation humor_

Vincent sent.

"Why Vincent and Catherine not talk while dancing?" Mouse asked.

_laughter, humor_

rippled along the Bond.

"There are many different ways I can talk to Catherine," Vincent said.

Mulder stopped suddenly, Scully ramming into his chest and stumbling. Mulder instinctively wrapped his arms around her to steady her, but he was looking up at the top of the steps.

{_confusion, disbelief, love, desire, fear, curiosity, apprehension, concealment, fight or flight…}_

_overwhelmed_

Catherine sent.

_apology_

Vincent sent.

Both of them followed Mulder's eyes to the top of the steps, where three strange men with backpacks and duffel bags were looking down on the scene with shock and amazement.

XXX

Scully's first inclination was to punch Mulder in the stomach for stopping so suddenly, but she had to reevaluate her plans when she suddenly found herself wrapped in the arms of her partner.

_Mulder had better have a good explanation for this,_ Scully groused, although she figured that some of the emotions coursing through her were belying her current thoughts.

Mulder loosened his grip on Scully, and she quickly disentangled herself from his embrace. She looked up and felt a mixture of relief and trepidation as she saw the three men standing at the top of the stairs.

"What are you three doing here?" Mulder asked, leading Scully through the crowd to the base of the staircase.

"'Here' as in, 'New York City,' or 'here' as in, 'miles beneath the streets of New York City in a room filled with people who look like they've been transported straight from a fairy tale?'"a tall, gangly man with long, blond hair said.

"There's a different answer for each question?" Mulder said.

"Yes," a gentleman of average height dressed in a charcoal gray suit replied. "We are in New York City because we discovered that you and Scully are in big trouble. We are miles beneath the streets of New York City in a room filled with people who look like they've been transported straight out of a fairy tale because we followed a skinny guy with long, dark hair who was wearing a Mets baseball cap."

"That was a Mets cap?" Mulder asked. "He didn't let me get close enough to see the logo."

"If you had seen the Mets logo, would you have followed him?" the gentleman asked again.

"Point taken," Mulder said.

"He obviously smelled a Yankees fan," the tall man said.

"How exactly are we in trouble?" Scully asked.

"While you and Mulder seem to have things…well in hand down here," a short, grizzled man said, "we found some disturbing information up there."

Scully fixed the short man with her best Ice Queen glare, but it failed to faze him.

"Would you care to introduce us to your friends?" the gentleman asked.

"Everyone, this is John Byers," Mulder said, gesturing toward the gentleman. "This is Robert Langly," Mulder said, pointing to the tall blond. "This is Melvin Frohike," Mulder said, looking at the short man. "They put out a newspaper called the _Lone Gunman_; they specialize in top secret information and government conspiracies."

"This is—" Scully began.

"Catherine Chandler," Byers said, stepping forward and holding out his hand. "We know. Mulder called us yesterday and told us he was working on a case that didn't feel kosher."

"We started digging and finally hit pay dirt early this afternoon," Frohike said.

"Don't ask us how we found this," Langly said, thunking his duffle bag on the nearest table and unzipping it, "but let's just say that our kung fu is the best."

Scully knew better than to get in the way of the Gunmen, so she stood beside Mulder and watched them hook up their bulky laptops and other unnamable electronic devices to their portable generator. She smiled as she noticed Mouse standing next to an unattended backpack, his furtive efforts at stealth fooling no one. Jamie took his hand and led him to a place that had an unobstructed view but was far from anything breakable.

"Watch this," Langly said, cocking his head toward his laptop.

Mulder and Scully stood behind him, as did Vincent and Catherine. Scully was amused at how the Gunmen failed to notice Vincent's unusual appearance; she supposed they dealt with stranger people on a regular basis. Her attention was instantly drawn to the grainy video feed on the laptop screen.

She recognized the angle as that of a squad car camera. The policeman was speeding through a ghetto, radio chatter filling the cab. He pulled up in front of a convenience store and parked the car so it was facing an abandoned warehouse adjacent to the store.

He stepped out of the car; Scully heard occasional references to a robbery and fleeing suspects. She was beginning to get impatient when Langly pointed to a doorway in the abandoned warehouse. A flash of light appeared, hovered, and was quickly extinguished. An older man walked out with the gang leader who had led the burglary of Catherine's house. While the details of the older man's features were somewhat obscured by the grainy film, Scully could still make out large jowls, a nice suit, and gray hair. And a cigarette.

Mulder's intake of breath told her he recognized the man too. His hand found the small of Scully's back, and she made no motion to step away.

"Big trouble," Byers said.

"Big trouble," Mulder echoed.

"Who is he?" Catherine asked.

"We're not entirely sure," Scully said. "All we know is that he is somehow involved in a government conspiracy of indeterminate purpose and scope. We believe him to have been involved in both my assignment to the X-Files and my kidnapping."

"And a conspiracy involving humanity and extraterrestrials," Mulder said. "Okay, so _I_ believe that."

Scully's arched eyebrow had served its purpose.

"While our specific theories differ," Scully said, "we both agree that the Cigarette Smoking Man is untrustworthy and is usually working to carry out an agenda that is not beneficial to anyone caught in the middle."

"That's our favorite kind, right, Radcliffe?" Joe said.

"But what would he want with me?" Vincent asked.

"What wouldn't he want with you?" Frohike replied, looking up at Vincent. "Maybe he wants to use you as a weapon. Maybe he wants to experiment on you—"

"Purity!" Mulder and Scully said.

"But what, exactly, is Purity?" Scully asked. "Its origin and purpose remain unknown; what do they hope to gain from Vincent?"

"I think I can answer that," a male voice said from the top of the stairs.

With an acute sense of déjà vu, Scully looked once again to the top of the stairs. Judging from Catherine's reaction, the man and his partner were in for a rough time.


	9. Chapter 9

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty & the Beast nor the X-Files.

A/N: I borrowed parts of the last scene from the B&tB Season Three episode, "Snow," although I have made a few modifications.

"Elliot?" Catherine said.

"Hello, Cathy," Elliot said, descending the stairs, Cleon behind him.

"What are you doing here?" Catherine asked.

"I'm here to buy answers with answers," Eliot said, taking two folders from Cleon and holding them out to Catherine. "Apparently I found them," he said, staring hard at Vincent.

Uncertainty warred with practicality as Catherine weighed her options. She knew that Elliot Burch never did anything without expecting something in return, yet she could tell from his demeanor that he had found important information. While he had not rushed up to Vincent and pumped his hand, he also had not shown fear or revulsion.

"Come on, Cathy," Elliot said, desperation clouding his bearded face. "Doesn't this pattern look familiar to you? Several people invade your privacy and attack you, seemingly at random. Someone comes to investigate and uncovers some of your many secrets. I never found out the full cost of the last time something like this happened to you, but I have a feeling you paid dearly."

"What do you know, Elliot?" Mulder asked, walking to the group at the bottom of the steps with Scully.

Catherine felt a stab of irritation, but she understood that Mulder was just doing his job. She would have done the same thing had she been on a case.

"Cleon here," Elliot said, gesturing toward a solidly-built black man with a moustache and dark brown eyes, "is the best private investigator I've ever known."

Catherine smiled as she heard Edie, Rita, and the Lone Gunmen harrumph softly in protest.

"After the Spirko incident five and a half years ago, Cleon and I had a conversation. I told him there might come a time when I would ask him to find out everything about Cathy and her secrets, although I would only ever do so if I felt her to be threatened. I told him I would know when the time was right, and I would tell him when I wanted him to look up this information. Little did I know that Cleon had already gotten a head start. That's why he's the best: he always stays several steps ahead of the rest of us, although it doesn't usually pay to say so."

"You respected Catherine's wishes for privacy even though you had a burning desire to know her secrets? Something tells me that's not your standard MO, Burch," Mulder said.

"Tell me about it," Elliot said. "I learned a long time ago that prying secrets out of Cathy was harder than executing a hostile takeover of a rival company."

"Tell me about it," Joe muttered.

"Piece by piece, I learned a few of Cathy's secrets. This knowledge often came at steep cost and always added several new questions in place of the one answered. I didn't give up on finding out Cathy's secrets; I merely waited for a more opportune time."

"Our visit," Mulder said.

"Yes. I could tell by your questions that the time was finally right. I called Cleon and he came right over, admitting that he had been working on this case off and on since Spirko."

"Spirko?" Scully asked.

"A reporter given part of Vincent's story by Paracelsus, who was pretending to be Elliot," Catherine said.

"Paracelsus?" Mulder said.

"A ruthless, bitter man who turned on all he helped build," Father said, limping forward. "He and I founded the Tunnels about thirty-five years ago, but he went mad and plagued our community until Vincent…put a stop to his madness."

"What does this have to do with the current case?" Scully said. "Is there any chance this Paracelsus is still alive?"

"No," Vincent whispered.

When he did not elaborate, Mulder said, "What you're saying is that you understand the persistence of ruthless, bitter men. You believe us when we say the Smoking Man will not give up until he has Vincent."

"What you haven't yet told us is what new information you found," Scully said.

"This folder," Elliot said, handing one of the manila folders to Catherine, "contains Spirko's research and hypotheses. You won't find any new information, but I figured you wouldn't want anyone else to stumble across it. This other folder contains the research of a lucky lab tech whose life was saved by the flu. He had just done some blood work on his boss's test subject and had taken the results home to analyze. However, he was dismayed to wake up with a fever and aching muscles. His dismay turned to thankfulness when he turned on the evening news and saw the lead story."

"Gabriel?" Catherine whispered.

"Yes," Elliot said. "This man worked for Gabriel and had taken his research home, meaning that whoever destroyed Gabriel's research notes could only pull off an incomplete cover-up."

"Do you think the Cigarette Smoking Man has a copy?" Mulder said.

"Perhaps," Cleon said. "I got them from an…information broker. They didn't come cheap, and he wouldn't tell me what happened to the lab tech. We have to assume that anything we have, this Smoking Man could have, too."

"But what does he want?" Catherine asked.

"Vincent's blood, if I understand this research properly," Elliot said.

"May I?" Scully said, holding out her hand.

Elliot handed Scully the manila folder; she opened it and began to read. Vincent walked up to Catherine and stood beside her, wrapping an arm around her waist. Catherine watched as Scully's eyebrows rose higher and higher, only to lower into a frown. Her eyes suddenly widened and her lips parted slightly, shocked comprehension on her face.

"Elliot's right," Scully said, closing the folder. "I will have to further examine the contents of this folder, but this blood work hypothesizes about several extraordinary properties of Vincent's blood. Over the course of our work, Mulder and I have discovered evidence of genetic experimentation on human test subjects. We disagree about the origins of the genetic material, but we agree that it is manufactured and that the government is infecting people with this material and monitoring the results. If the Smoking Man found out about the unusual properties of Vincent's blood, he might desire to obtain Vincent as a test subject."

"Which is obviously something we don't want to happen," Elliot said. "You don't believe me, Cathy?"

"You haven't kept your feelings for me secret," Catherine said.

"Yes, but I respected your privacy even when I wanted answers. All I ever wanted was for you to be happy, and I can see that you are."

"You haven't walked in on the happiest moment of my day," Catherine said. "Speaking of which, how did you walk in at all?"

"I'd forgotten!" Elliot said. "Have you seen a skinny guy with dark hair and a Mets baseball cap? He met Cleon and me after we dropped down the manhole you and I used to escape from the _goronistas_ five years ago. He promised he would take us to you, and he did. I'd like to thank him if he's still around."

"Kristopher's always around, but he's only visible when he wants to be," Vincent said.

"More secrets?" Elliot said. "Come on, Cathy. Who is he?"

"An artist who faked his death years ago but who has taken to living in the Tunnels and occasionally popping up," Catherine said.

"A ghost," Vincent said simultaneously.

"That's the first time I've seen you two disagree all evening," Mulder said.

"I take it you have differing opinions on Kristopher's true nature?" Scully said.

"I can't believe Kristopher's a ghost," Catherine said. "I watched him drink coffee, eat pastries, and pick up an art student's textbook. He spoke not only to me, but to others around us. Vincent's explanation seeks to tear down years of doubting the existence of ghosts. To suddenly believe…."

"I understand completely," Scully said.

"But Catherine," Vincent said, "how can you ignore the evidence? Kristopher leaves no footprints. I have no sense of him when he's near—or when he leaves, for that matter. The oil painting he left for us in that warehouse was dry even though he'd only known us for a day. Even in the face of such proof, you still won't believe me."

"I understand completely," Mulder muttered.

"What painting?" Scully asked.

Catherine felt Vincent's amusement through the Bond. He was enjoying himself a little too much, and she sent him so.

"Five years ago, a day after we first met Kristopher, he left us a painting in a warehouse. A painting of us, even though we never officially sat for him. He had nothing to go on but a sketch of me he made while sitting at a table, and Vincent he only glimpsed for a moment. The picture is quite…memorable," Catherine said.

"Excellent technique, for a ghost," Vincent said.

"So!" Elliot said, clapping his hands, "in summary: You could not fall in love with me because you had already fallen in love with Vincent. You…married? Yes, I thought so, by the look of things. You married Vincent and had…a son?"

"And a daughter," Vincent said, tipping his head toward Caroline.

"A son and a daughter," Elliot said, slightly dazed. "Vincent is your mystery protector; he saved our lives five years ago when the _goronistas _attacked us. He rescued you and his newborn son from Gabriel. You quit your job with the DA's office and started your own foundation. You lived up there and down here quietly enough for five years, and now some shady government official wants to steal your husband's blood for, what? Genetic engineering? What's so controversial about any of that that you couldn't trust me with the truth?"

"Elliot—" Catherine said defensively before seeing the twinkle in his eyes.

"No, Cathy; I understand. I don't like that you never felt you could trust me, but I haven't always given you a reason. Your secrets—all of them—are safe with us, and we'd like to help protect you with whatever resources we have, which are considerable."

"Thank you, Elliot," Catherine said, hugging him and leaving him flustered.

"So what do you propose we do?" Father asked the room at large.

"The Smoking Man is relentless," Mulder said. "He has unlimited resources. He is patient. He is cunning. You can't outrun him, and outsmarting him is improbable. But not impossible."

"Mulder, I don't like that look," Scully said. "That's the same look you always have when you've come up with an idea that is probably going to get us killed."

"You and I have a Bond all our own, Scully," Mulder said. "I would like to point out that you are still alive, and have thus always been wrong about my ideas. You are right in that you're not going to like this idea, though. The only way to make Cancer Man lose interest in Vincent is to give him a reason to lose interest."

"Like making him think I've left the Tunnels?" Vincent said.

"No," Mulder said. "He would just attempt to track you down and, when that failed, decide that you hadn't actually run away. He would and come back here, and you'd be back in danger."

"Could I fight him?" Vincent asked. "I hate the prospect of more violence, but I'm willing to do what I must to protect my family."

"That's a possible solution, but you would have to find him first," Mulder said. "We don't even know that he's here in New York. He loves to pull the strings, but he has his hands on a lot of marionettes. We have no proof he's even watching us. He could be waiting right outside one of the Tunnels entrances, or he could be in DC or Hong Kong."

"Mulder, surely you're not suggesting what I think you're suggesting," Scully said.

"What does our Bond tell you, Scully?" Mulder said.

"That you are about to suggest that Vincent fake his own death," Scully said.

"I'm falling more deeply in love with you by the moment, Scully," Mulder said. "That is exactly what I'm about to propose. Or maybe what I just proposed."

"Do you have any idea how much risk would be involved in such an undertaking?" Scully said, her arms crossed. "Vincent would have to come out in the open so that multiple witnesses could give testimony to his presence. He would have to be put in a potentially fatal situation so that said witnesses would testify to the probability of his demise. The sheer number of variables would guarantee that something would go wrong."

"Do you have a better idea, Scully?" Mulder said. "You know as well as I do that Cancer Man has no qualms about experimenting on the innocent. Do you want Vincent to go through what you went through? Because I don't want Father to go through what your mother went through. I don't want Catherine to go through what I…."

Catherine wanted to comfort Mulder somehow, but Vincent kept his arm firmly around her. He was right; only Scully could reach him.

"Mulder," Scully whispered, gently placing a hand on his arm. "Of course I don't want Vincent or any of these people to suffer the way we have, the way they have in the past. But what if your plan…do you have a plan?"

"Not exactly," Mulder said. "Any ideas?"

"I have a boat I don't want anymore," a man said from the back. "She's not much, but the _Compass Rose_ could get you to someplace safe. She doesn't have to come through the plan in one piece, if you know what I mean."

"Mouse has…putty bombs? Molds like play dough, sticks to walls, goes boom, you know? Learned lots since last time."

"I have a few loyal men who won't ask questions," Joe said.

"I have capital, as much as you need. And Cleon's services," Elliot said.

"Our kung fu's the best," Langly said, signaling that the Gunmen were in.

"A lot of us are good at setting plans in motion," Jamie said. "We are willing to do anything to help Vincent and Catherine."

"So we have a fishing boat, old plastic explosives, rogue policemen, money, a PI, hackers, and heart. Can we make a plan out of that, Mulder?" Scully said.

"Is there any doubt?" Mulder asked. "No, don't answer that, Scully. And you left us out."

"I did, didn't I?" Scully said.

"You are in this with us, with me?" Mulder asked.

Catherine didn't need Vincent's help to follow the conflict taking place inside Scully. Fear was evident on her face, but Catherine could tell it was fear for others rather than personal fear. Catherine understood all too well, remembering the times coworkers had gotten wounded or killed during a botched bust or sting. She saw the moment when Scully made her decision and relaxed slightly.

"I wouldn't miss it," Scully said, smiling up at Mulder.

"It's late, and I know that not everyone is able or willing to take part in any planning," Father said, stepping to the center of the Great Hall. "As it has long been our tradition to end Winterfest with a short ceremony, I would ask that everyone form a circle in the center of the room."

Catherine and Vincent rounded up their children and joined the large circle comprised of Tunnels residents, Helpers, and new friends. Everyone clasped the hands of their neighbors and looked to the center of the circle as Father hobbled out on his crutch.

"As so often happens at Winterfest, festivities this year did not go exactly as planned. New dangers have been revealed to us; we are now facing one of the biggest obstacles that has ever presented itself to the Tunnels community. However, new friends have come forward to help us in our time of trouble. Old friends will remain as true and loyal as in times past. We celebrate Winterfest every year to remind ourselves that Spring always follows Winter. While it seemed initially that we were celebrating Winterfest late, we were obviously celebrating it right on time. Vincent informed me that he would like to say something, after which we will be dismissed."

"Thank you, Father," Vincent said, stepping into the circle beside the Tunnels patriarch. "I would like to close this Winterfest by reciting one of our favorite poems. Catherine and I would like to dedicate it to everyone who has helped and supported us over the years, but we would also like to dedicate it to Special Agents Fox Mulder and Dana Scully. Thank you for pursuing the truth and for trusting us and each other. Shakespearean Sonnet 116 says:

_Let me not to the marriage of true minds_

_Admit impediments. Love is not love_

_Which alters when it alteration finds,_

_Or bends with the remover to remove:_

_O, no! it is an ever-fixed mark,_

_That looks on tempests and is never shaken;_

_It is the star to every wandering bark,_

_Whose worth's unknown, although his height be taken._

_Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks _

_Within his bending sickle's compass come;_

_Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks,_

_But bears it out even to the edge of doom._

_If this be error, and upon me prov'd,_

_I never writ, nor no man ever loved."_

Silence reigned in the Great Hall as everyone remained under the spell of Vincent's rough, mellifluous voice for a few seconds after the last line faded away. Catherine was always surprised to discover her capacity to fall more deeply in love with her husband, but she doubted that many women could listen to that velvety voice without falling in love. Not that they would ever get anywhere with Vincent….

People began to drift away, grabbing last-minute snacks, saying goodbyes, and gathering purses, scarves, and coats. Many of the Helpers left, although most offered any assistance Vincent and Catherine might require. Tunnels residents with children left briefly to tuck them in for the night, but quickly returned. Catherine had a feeling this was going to be a long night, and the Bond suggested Vincent felt so as well.

XXX

Vincent braced his wife in his arms against the bitterly cold blizzard. Snow and ice blanketed the Tunnels all the way to the Central Park threshold.

Catherine tried to move on her own, but the wind was a constant pressure, almost a living entity. It chapped her face and leeched the warmth from her body, making any forward progress a minor victory.

With Vincent's help, they trudged through the snow, slowly making their way toward the Central Park Tunnels entrance. After what felt like hours of hiking, they stopped a few feet away from two frozen corpses.

Vincent looked down and stared straight into his own eyes. His face was frozen in a rictus of terror, his canines bared in a snarl. Even worse was the body lying next to the Vincent corpse.

Catherine willed herself not to look away from her dead double, green meeting green in a soundless plea for mercy. She had seen worse while working in the DA's office, but seeing herself and, worse, Vincent dead in such a manner made her thankful for Vincent's rock-solid body behind her.

Wordlessly, they bent over to examine the corpses. No matter how hard they tried, the wind kept blowing them backwards. Exhausted, they fell to the snow-covered Tunnels floor and curled up in each other's arms, both knowing they were only staving off the inevitable.

They woke at the same time, each one sitting up in bed and turning toward the other.

Lost…in the storm," Vincent grated, pulling Catherine close.

"Just a dream," Catherine said, not sounding at all convinced.

"The storm…I saw it coming," Vincent insisted.

"No storm can touch us here," Catherine said, sending comfort and love through the Bond.

"I saw my own death," Vincent said. "I saw…."

"Mine," Catherine said, wrapping her arms around Vincent.

Vincent could feel the many layers of meaning Catherine attached to that word; his wife was both completing his thought and claiming possession. He considered voicing the reasons for going through with their plan, but Catherine looked into his eyes and his heart, and he knew that words were not necessary.

Without another word, they held each other close and drifted off into another dream.


	10. Chapter 10

Disclaimer: I own neither B&tB nor X-Files.

A/N: Anything surrounded by represents Vincent or Catherine's own feelings sent through the Bond.

_Wednesday, February 22, 1995_

Scully scowled as she heard the knock on the connector door. She put down the packet of coffee she had been preparing to empty into the dripper and turned to face the connector, bracing herself for the inevitable lewd comment Mulder would make about catching her in her bathrobe.

"Come in," she said, not even trying to sound hospitable.

"Look what I found shoved under my door, Scully," Mulder said, brandishing a newspaper clipping.

_Good morning to you, too_, Scully thought, walking over.

"What is it, Mulder?" she said.

"See for yourself," he said, handing her the clipping.

It was from five years ago, cut out of a newspaper reassuringly named _The National Star Confidential_. "Grandma Sees Monster Captured," read the lurid headline.

"Please tell me your source also gave you the article about Bigfoot fathering children with aliens. I heard about that article five years ago and was devastated to miss it," Scully said.

"Aw, c'mon, Scully," Mulder said. "You got that break in the Flukeman case because of that tip my informant slipped you."

"We already got a break in this case, Mulder," Scully said. "In fact, we've already solved the case."

"But our informant doesn't know that," Mulder said.

"And that's supposed to impress me?" Scully said. "Maybe he's losing his touch."

"Scully!" Mulder hissed, nervously looking around the room. "You never know when a room we're staying in might be bugged," he whispered.

"Then they already heard me say we solved the case, and the damage is already done," Scully said.

"Oh, Scully!" Mulder said with a fake laugh. "You're such a kidder. You know what we need? A run in Central Park."

"You know what I need, Mulder?" Scully said. "Coffee."

"I think we _really_ need to _take a run_ in _Central Park_," Mulder said, winking significantly and gesturing toward Scully's front door.

"Why, yes, Mulder," Scully said, enunciating every word. "I would love to go running in Central Park with you. Thank you for asking me at this optimum time after showering but before coffee. I've been waiting for you to ask me to jog with you all morning, and was bitterly disappointed when you failed to do so before I showered. Now that you have asked me, I will happily put on my less-than-professional workout clothes and will jog with you to Central Park so we can get a literal running start on solving this case we haven't yet solved."

"Thank you for your gracious acceptance, Scully," Mulder said. "I'll buy you a cup of coffee after we're done."

"Thank you, Mulder," Scully said.

"I still think you're wrong about my…friend," Mulder said. "Just because he might have miscalculated this time doesn't mean he won't come through for us again."

"I want to believe, Mulder," Scully said.

Mulder and Scully stared at one another for a few moments, Scully at last giving up on his ability to take a nonverbal hint.

"Mulder?" Scully said, hands on her hips.

"Yes, Scully?" he said, seeming genuinely puzzled.

"Go!" Scully said, gesturing at her attire.

Mulder slowly looked her up and down, a grin as lurid as the _Confidential_ headline spreading across his face. He walked out the connector door, shutting it behind him.

Scully thought she heard Mulder mutter something about not losing his touch, but she couldn't be sure whether he was talking about his informant or himself. Sighing, she opened a dresser drawer and pulled out her jogging clothes. _He's going to buy me a large, expensive cup of coffee._

XXX

"He claims he and his pals found a ton of dough in their buddies' stuff," Detective John Doggett said, sitting on the other side of Joe Maxwell's desk.

"How classy of them to honor their friends' memories by blowin' their money on drugs and booze," Joe said, skimming Doggett's report.

"That would explain why they thought attackin' Ms. Chandler before dark in a public place was a good idea," Doggett said.

"I'm glad you showed up when you did," Joe said. "Radcliffe and I have been friends for a long time."

"I was in the right place at the right time," Doggett said.

_I often seem to be in the right place at the right time to help strangers, but never people I love,_ Doggett thought.

"Any ideas about who hired the punks?" Joe asked.

"Nothin'," Doggett said. "Nothin' but dead ends and brick walls. I'll keep lookin', though. Gotta be someone behind it all. Punks don't normally do business this way. I don't want anyone else to hurt Ms. Chandler."

Doggett felt like Maxwell was sizing him up for some reason, so he kept his gaze steady. He had nothing to hide, nothing to fear. What could anyone take away from him that hadn't already been taken away?

"Detective Doggett," Joe said. "In a few minutes, several men are going to walk through that door because they want to help protect Cathy. They understand I'm going to have to leave out a lot of details and that they may never get explanations for some of what they see. Cathy is in more danger than you could ever understand; I can't say any more unless you promise complete confidentiality."

"What's this all about, sir?" Doggett asked.

"It's about saving Cathy's life," Joe said. "It's about saving her son and loved ones. What we're going to do will be dangerous, and most of my men won't know why they're doing it beyond what I can tell them. For some reason, Radcliffe seems to have gotten under your skin. I can understand; Radcliffe's accused me of being overprotective a few times. Right now, she needs good men she can count on, good men who can keep a secret. If you're interested, I'd like you to stay for this meeting."

Doggett weighed Maxwell's words. Something about Ms. Chandler got to him; perhaps it was the way those green eyes went soft when she talked about her son. Or maybe it had something to do with the way she had held that gun on him in that second when she hadn't known whose side he was on.

Doggett didn't like doing things without good reason; he would have to tell Maxwell that he couldn't proceed unless Maxwell could at least guarantee that what they were doing was legit. What did Maxwell mean when he said that Doggett might see something questionable? That meant a lot coming from someone who had worked in New York City law enforcement as long as Maxwell had.

Danger meant nothing to Doggett. He didn't have a death wish, but he didn't have a life wish, either. The best part of his life died when he stood over Luke's body in that field. His son had already left him, and his wife's love had followed soon after. If he had to give up his life for the life of Catherine, for her son, so be it.

"Can you at least tell me that what we're doin' is on the level?" Doggett asked.

"We're going to be bending the rules, but hopefully, nobody will get hurt. I know your reputation, John," Joe said, pinning Doggett with his eyes. "Your word will be good enough for me. Do you promise you will do everything you can to protect Catherine Chandler without asking questions I can't answer?"

Doggett considered walking away; he didn't like uncertainty and secrecy. He was a straightforward guy, after all. _Maybe a change of pace will do me good,_ he thought. With a shock, he realized he was looking forward to whatever he was about to do to protect Ms. Chandler. He was even more shocked to realize he was contemplating the previously unthinkable: leaving the City, one way or another. _And if I don't survive…_

"I promise," Doggett said.

XXX

"Better?" Mouse's voice asked through the speaker as the camera angle on the computer screen shifted slightly.

"Better than better," Langly said.

"Better than best," Frohike agreed.

Vincent stood on the second floor of Father's study, watching people bustle in and out in preparation for later that night.

"I'm planning a victory celebration in the Great Hall that will make Winterfest look like a brown bag special," William said, delivering Father's pot of Earl Grey.

"I just hope everyone will be in attendance," Father said, pretending to focus on the chess board.

"Don't worry, Father," Mary said, pretending to play chess with Father. "Vincent and Catherine always prevail, even against great odds."

Vincent smiled at that; it was true. Even if it wasn't true this time, he would at least make sure Catherine got away safely.

"Joe got the masks," Pascal said, darting into the room. "Any return message?"

"Just a 'thank you' and confirmation," Father said.

"Will do," Pascal said, dashing back to his pipes.

"Mouse," Jamie said into the speaker, "I need those new crossbow bolts you were making for me."

"Right!" Mouse said, scrabbling down from his precarious perch where he had been helping the Gunmen rig up a surveillance camera. "Back in a flash!"

"We've got cameras on the ship, the tunnel, and the docks. We can't plan for every contingency, but we can at least know what happens when something goes wrong," Byers said.

"I suppose it's time to construct the…incendiary device," Father said.

"I have a feeling we'll have plenty of assistance," Langly said.

Vincent was inclined to agree since several Tunnels residents had experience with explosives. As much as it scared Vincent to contemplate, he knew Mouse might be helpful as well. He had blasted Vincent and Father out of that cave-in and had disarmed Paracelsus' bomb. Perhaps the others could curtail Mouse's exuberance.

"We've widened the dockside passages and shored them up," Kanin said, reporting in with a group of workers. "The way is clear; Vincent should have no trouble."

"'Course Daddy won't have any trouble," Jacob said, running into the study. "Daddy never has any trouble. He can do anything!"

Father half-heartedly admonished Jacob about running in the study, but smiled when the boy carefully climbed into his lap.

"You're right, Jacob," Father said softly, holding his grandson in his arms. "Vincent will be fine."

Vincent was so wrapped up in the scene that he almost failed to notice Catherine trying to sneak up behind him. He dampened the Bond in an attempt to fool her, but he quickly sensed that Catherine felt his intentions. A moment later, her arms wrapped around him from behind.

He turned around and gathered her close, savoring the feel of her, savoring this moment in time. Reluctantly, he loosened his hold on Catherine and they turned around, his arms clasping her as she leaned back into his chest. They watched the activity below, wishing they could do something now but knowing they would soon be doing their fair share.

"Look at them, Catherine," Vincent whispered. "All of them are working so hard to help us."

"They're our family, Vincent," Catherine said. What do you expect?"

_Family_

Vincent sent through the Bond, combining numerous emotions into a bundle.

_Family_

Catherine sent, subtly altering and adding a few emotions of her own.

Hand in hand, they headed down the wrought iron spiral staircase and joined Father and their son.


	11. Chapter 11

Disclaimer: I own neither B&tB nor X-Files.

Jamie flowed out of the shadows and into the darkness, her thick, heavy Tunnels clothes camouflaging her form and her crossbow. Her blond hair was tucked up under her dark gray toboggan; her hands were sheathed in black leather gloves. She was alert and vigilant, knowing from a lifetime of Tunnels experience that letting your guard down by the docks could get you in deep trouble in a hurry.

Keeping her eyes focused on the docks, Jamie allowed part of her mind to remember the conversation she'd had with Mouse as they had gone to his chamber to get her crossbow bolts.

"Best bolts Mouse ever made," he said, grinning madly. "Better than good. Better than best. Best than bestest!"

"You outdid yourself this time, Mouse," Jamie said, grasping a steel bolt in her gloved hand.

"Mouse help keep Jamie safe," he said. "Not that Jamie can't keep Jamie safe."

"I can take care of myself, but that doesn't mean you can't help keep me safe. Catherine is one of the strongest women I know, but she still needs Vincent to protect her once in awhile," Jamie said, pocketing the bolts in her quiver.

"Vincent's Catherine protects Vincent sometimes, too," Mouse said.

"I'm trying to keep everyone safe," Jamie said.

"Jamie will," Mouse said. "Jamie always does."  
"Not always," Jamie whispered, remembering when she had been too late to save Winslow.

"Jamie will this time," Mouse said, nodding. "Jamie has help."

"Thank you, Mouse," Jamie said, turning to leave.

"Jamie?" Mouse said.

Jamie paused and turned around.

"Be well," Mouse said, awkwardly pulling her into his embrace.

"Be well," Jamie said, hugging him back.

Jamie refocused her full attention on the docks, sensing movement nearby. Five men were walking down the alley toward the docks, but they clearly were not ordinary men. While they were dressed in jeans and heavy sports jackets, they were also wearing ski masks. The biggest, burliest one had a petite, unconscious woman slung over his shoulder. They strolled confidently, daring anyone to mess with them.

Keeping to the shadows, Jamie silently followed them down to the docks and watched them look around. Finally, they settled on a fishing trawler called the _Compass Rose._ They glanced around to make sure nobody was watching and then jumped onto the deck, quickly inspecting all areas of the small boat to make sure nobody was aboard. The burly one stayed outside, while a taller, lankier man took the unconscious woman into the hold.

None of this surprised Jamie, but she knew she had to put on a convincing show for anyone watching. She slinked back to the pay phone across from the building in which she had been hiding and deposited the change Catherine had given her a few hours ago. She dialed the police department and told the dispatcher she wanted to report a probable kidnapping.

"Five men in sports jackets and ski masks, maybe armed. One was carrying a small woman with shoulder-length medium-brown hair and fancy clothes. Another had a wrapped bundle, maybe a bomb or gun or something. No, I won't give you my name; I'm in danger just by being here, talking to you."

She gave them the specific location before hanging up, looking around for anyone who may have snuck up on her while she was on the phone.

"All clear," one of the Gunmen said in her ear, annoying Jamie greatly.

_It's hard enough to sneak around with only my voice in my head,_ she thought. _Besides, they can't see everything from up there that I can see down here._

Out of the corner of her finely-honed peripheral vision, Jamie caught sight of a heavily-jowled face lit by a cigarette. _Looks like all those years of playing hide and seek in the Tunnels with Mouse are paying off, _she thought.

Acting as if she had not noticed him, she slipped back the way she had come, doubling back toward the alley in which the Smoking Man was lurking.

"What are you doing?" the voice said.

Jamie ignored it for several reasons.

She drew her crossbow from its concealed holster, loading one of Mouse's new bolts and holding the crossbow at the ready by her side. She knew this area well and had scouted it earlier today with Mouse so she would know every escape route.

Jamie crept toward an open door of an abandoned warehouse facing the alley concealing the Smoking Man. She padded inside, her feet making no sound as she slowly made her way to a broken window about thirty feet behind her target.

_I could end this now,_ she thought, raising the crossbow and aiming it at the back of the smoker's head. _I won't miss with Mouse's new bolt; from what those agents and Burch said last night, he deserves to die._

Her finger tightened on the trigger, her resolve stiffening as the smoker took an unconcerned drag of his cigarette. _As if he doesn't care that Catherine is in danger and that she and others might die just so he can have Vincent for his precious experiments. _

An image of Vincent having a breakdown flashed through her mind, and she tried to tamp it down. She couldn't help but remember how he had raged against everyone he loved because—at least in part—he had been driven to do so by the violent acts he had committed. _Vincent would never want me to do this. He would still love me, but he would not approve of killing someone who was not an obvious, direct threat._

_But I know him to be a threat. He's partially responsible for at least the deaths of the three burglars who broke into Catherine's house; he knew what Vincent would do to them just like Paracelsus had known what Vincent would do to those men he sent to kidnap Catherine. That's another reason to kill him: He somehow knows about Vincent. Reading between the lines, he's responsible for making Mulder and Scully suffer, too. _

Jamie stood as still as a statue, as still as she had to stay when hiding from Mouse in the Tunnels. _Mouse might talk tough about blowing up the agents' car to protect Vincent and Catherine, but he wouldn't have done it. I think. And anyway, that's different from training a crossbow on someone's skull, from pulling the trigger yourself. My innocent Mouse. How could I look him in the eye? _

_Because it's necessary,_ a cold voice said in her head.

That voice clinched it; it sounded like she imagined the Smoking Man would sound if he spoke. _Father raised me better than that,_ she thought, slightly relaxing her grip on the crossbow. _But this man is still a threat and is behind the effort to capture Vincent. It could only benefit us if he has to learn of tonight's events secondhand so that he can't notice any flaws in the plan. Mulder and Scully seem to think he's a pain in the—_

She let the twang of the bolt and the Smoking Man's shocked grunt of pain finish the thought. Jamie melted back into the shadows, sneering at the smoker's blundering stumbles as he looked out of the alley for a fleeing attacker. He glanced quickly in the open door, but Jamie made no sound or movement. From his hooded eyes and hard expression, she could tell that he was a man used to living in the shadows.

_So am I, _she thought, smiling in satisfaction as the smoker gingerly limped away from the docks. When she was sure of her aloneness, she slipped out of one warehouse and into the one from which she had originally come. She moved a few crates and slipped into the Tunnels entrance, a shade in the shadows.

XXX

Snow put his cell phone back in his pocket and sneered at the incompetence of his boss, who had somehow injured himself and was no longer on the docks. The smoker had hired him as a contingency plan, but Snow was nobody's backup. He had half listened to what the smoker had had to say, remembering only what would be necessary to the hunt.

The smoker had promised him two things when attempting to entice him to take this job: Revenge for his brother, which had not compelled him to accept the contract, and singular prey, which had. Had Snow cared enough about seeking revenge for his brother's death, he would have done so long ago. No, what interested him was the chance to best prey so advanced that not even his ruthless, cunning brother had been able to defeat it.

Snow knelt back into position, looking through the scope with his night goggles; he enjoyed the irony of literally seeing red. His night-vision scope bathed the _Compass Rose_ and her crew in muted crimson, as if they were already covered in blood. He was dressed in black, down to his bandolier filled with bullets for his sniper rifle. His close-cropped, white-blond hair was hidden under a black skullcap, his angular face as sharp as the biting, cold wind coming off the docks.

Little red ants crawled across the decks of the _Compass Rose_, unknowingly highlighted in Snow's crosshairs.

_I could kill them all right now,_ he thought, finger tightening on the trigger. _But why? They are easy prey, beneath my notice. They are unworthy of death at my hand, although if I get bored after killing the creature... _

From the brief moments he had paid attention to the smoker's ramblings, he had gathered that the prey always came to the aid of a damsel in distress, one Catherine Chandler. The smoker had ordered Snow to wait in a hotel room until called upon to act, but he had disregarded this order. Hunters hunted in the field. Hunters didn't wait around in hotel rooms while other less qualified people hunted for them.

_The girl is the key_, he repeated to himself. That had become his mantra over the past few days. _The girl is the key, and he will soon realize she is in trouble and will swoop in to save the day. And when he does..._

The smoker had ordered Snow to take the prey alive at all costs, but Snow knew from experience that powerful men like the smoker could not be trusted. Odds were good that the smoker would kill him before paying him the rest of his salary. He had given Snow good money up front, and much of Gabriel's estate remained untouched in offshore bank accounts. Snow was tired of this area anyway, and now was as good a time to disappear as any. Still, the challenge of killing the prey that had beaten his brother kept him here.

He had been stalking the girl from the moment he had left the smoker, skulking around her home and workplace. When she had been kidnapped, he had known his time had come. He trailed the kidnappers and had figured out their course of action before they had done so themselves. So here he was, perched on top of this warehouse with an unobstructed view of the _Compass Rose_ and her ill-fated crew.

_Dead men,_ he thought, caressing his rifle and waiting for his prey.

XXX

Doggett knew he could keep up this awkward silence, but he figured Chandler would say something eventually.

"Nice place," she said, smiling at him from her battered metal folding chair.

"Roomy," Doggett said, grimacing at the compact hold of the _Compass Rose_ and the bomb ticking away in the corner.

"Bit of a ticking time bomb, wouldn't you say?" Catherine said.

"Place could fall down any minute," Doggett said.

"Thank you for doing this, Doggett," Catherine said.

"John," Doggett said.

"John," Chandler said, looking at him with those bright, green eyes, "why are you doing this? The others are helping me out of loyalty, but you and I only met yesterday. Why are you here?"

Doggett knew she didn't just mean "here" as in "helping her out." Why was he here in the dingy hold of the _Compass Rose _keeping a bomb and a relative stranger company? He wasn't sure himself. He opted for half the truth.

I've been thinkin' 'bout change," Doggett said. "City's smotherin' me. Too many memories."

"I know what that can feel like," Chandler said, those eyes softening with care and concern.

_What is it about a gorgeous pair of lookers that makes me wanna spill my guts?_ Doggett thought. Maybe if he just told her the full truth, she'd stop looking at him like that. _If I admit the full truth to myself, I'm not gonna make it to the end of the evening without telling her the truth anyway._

"My son, Luke, was murdered about a year and a half ago," Doggett blurted out.

The look on Chandler's face made him wish he hadn't. _Great. Now her eyes are even more sympathetic._

"Oh, John," Chandler whispered. "I'm so sorry."

"Me, too," Doggett said. "Barb couldn't take it, couldn't take me. So I left; been alone ever since. I think that's why I'm here. Maybe if I can keep your family from fallin' apart, I won't feel so bad about failin' to keep mine together."

One of the disguised officers was loudly cursing the engine, putting on a good show for anyone listening. At least that part of the plan seemed to be going right.

"Is that why you volunteered for the most dangerous role?" Chandler asked. "To make sure men with families don't have to risk as much?"

"And because I figure if I don't make it out…" Doggett shrugged.

"You do want to make it out, don't you?" Chandler asked.

"Yeah," Doggett said firmly. "I been in plenty of tough situations the past year and a half; I coulda died in any of 'em. Death seems like givin' up, and I don't quit. All I'm sayin' is that gettin' you and your husband outta this mess safely is more important than gettin' me out alive. Your son needs both his parents."

"I lost my mother at a young age," Chandler said, "and I don't think I ever recovered. Thank you for the risks you're taking, even if you feel you have nothing to lose."

"Ahoy, mateys!" Doggett heard a man yell from the dock. "Which one o' ye landlubbers be the captain?"

_Feds_, Doggett thought. _Always gotta be the center of attention._

Muffled replies drifted down the stairs and through the closed door; the real action wouldn't start for a few minutes, though.

"Losses like that make you think, don't they?" Chandler said, restarting the conversation Doggett had hoped was finished.

"I been thinkin' all day," Doggett said. "I love my job, but this city…I shoulda left the moment Barb kicked me out. If I make it outta this, I'm gonna go somewhere else, do somethin' else. Maybe get a job with another PD. Maybe I'll talk to some of my Marine buddies, see what Shannon and Knowle are up to."

"Maybe you could go into some other branch of law enforcement altogether," Chandler said. "Have you ever thought about the FBI?"

"What, like Long John Silver out there?" Doggett said.

"Okay, so maybe he has a flair for the dramatic. You've been in law enforcement a long time. Surely you've met someone in the FBI you respect, at least a little."

Monica Reyes's honest, open face instantly appeared in Doggett's mind.

"I can tell that you have," Chandler said, smiling knowingly.

"Yeah, okay," Doggett said. "A Fed helped me during Luke's disappearance. She was good at her job, and good at listenin'. I haven't seen her in ages; every time I think of her, I think of my son."

"Perhaps you could call her when all this is done," Chandler said.

"Perhaps," Doggett said.

"Sir? We're going to come aboard," a female voice said. "We must investigate the report of trouble we received."

"Sorry, ma'am, but that would be a violation of my constitutional rights," Greg Hughes's voice said.

"Actually, sir, I think you have misunderstood the constitution. If you look under section…" the female voice said, fading away.

"She sounds more sensible than her partner," Doggett said.

"About some things," Chandler said.

Her gaze sharpened, and she looked Doggett in the eye.

"John, there are some things I have to tell you about my husband," Chandler said, all humor gone. "I know Joe told you a little about him, but I feel you need to know more so that when he comes bursting through that door…Vincent is the most human man I know, but he looks different."

"Different?" John said. "What, like a burn victim or somethin'?"

"Not exactly," Chandler said. "You strike me as a reasonable, straightforward man, so I'm going to level with you about my husband like you leveled with me about your son. Vincent has leonine features."

"Leowho?" John said. "If I remember my roots from English class correctly…but surely I don't."

"While my husband is human in every way—and we have two beautiful children to prove it—his facial features are partially those of a lion, as are his hands and feet."

"So you're sayin' your husband's some kinda monster?" John said, forehead furrowed.

"No!" Chandler said, eyes blazing. "Not a monster. Never a monster. We don't understand why Vincent is the way he is, and we have accepted that we may never know. There are several scientific possibilities; we believe that Vincent underwent some sort of genetic mutation _in utero_. Whether this was caused by man or nature, I cannot say. I just thought you should know this before Vincent breaks down that door rather than afterward."

"Look, Chandler," Doggett said.

"Cathy," Chandler said.

"Okay, Cathy," Doggett said. "You strike me as a practical woman. You're a legend at the office. You handle yourself well in a fight. But you really expect me to believe—"

"I expect you to believe all I'm telling you in a few minutes because my husband is going to come barreling through that door. I just don't want you to harm him in some way because you're caught off guard. Please, just remember what I said. He won't hurt you; he's an excellent actor and will help you put on a good show for anyone watching."

"We'll put on one helluva show," Doggett said.

"Gangway, you…"

"You can kiss my…"

"Gentlemen…"

The engine turned over, and Doggett and Catherine were suddenly all-business. Doggett knew things were going to happen fast, but that this would all be over soon.

Doggett heard several thumps and bumps, followed by sounds of a scuffle.

_Pow! Zap! Biff!_ He thought, hoping the agents and disguised officers would fight well enough to convince anyone watching that they meant business.

A much larger thud sounded above Doggett, followed by a roar.

"Is that—" Doggett asked, stopping as Catherine nodded.

A shot rang out, followed by two simultaneous roars of agony. Cathy's hand clutched her shoulder, and she fell to her knees. Doggett knelt beside her, running his hands over her with a thoroughness that would've gotten him in trouble with Vincent under different circumstances.

"You're not hit, Cathy," Doggett said, helping her sit up. "You're fine. You're okay."

"Vincent," Cathy moaned.

Another shot exploded in the night, this one sounding like it ripped through the cabin and into an officer. A scream tore from the officer's throat but died as quickly as he did.

"That's a high-caliber weapon," Doggett muttered. "I've heard enough gunfire to know that a bullet like that…"

_Even with this Kevlar vest on under my jacket, if one of those bullets tears inta me, this vest'll be nothin' but a glorified gut bucket._

"I'm gonna get you outta here, Cathy," Doggett said. "I swear…"


	12. Chapter 12

Disclaimer: I own neither B&tB nor X-Files.

Down, down, down they swam, deeper and deeper, putting as much vertical distance as possible between them and the escape hatch in the bottom of the boat. Vincent and Doggett swam out from under the boat, the concussive blast of the explosion slamming them into the nasty muck.

The frigid water and sludge soaked through Vincent's Tunnels clothes; he could sense Doggett's jacket weighing him down. He freed himself of the muck and helped Doggett free as well; Doggett's past as a Marine appeared to be helping him overcome the cold and lack of oxygen.

Navigating by instinct, Vincent continued swimming toward the planned escape tunnel. While the water was numbing his shoulder wound, it was also stiffening his muscles. Vincent sensed Doggett flagging slightly behind him; even Vincent's supply of strength and oxygen was not infinite. Vincent began to slow down and to grow disoriented, the cold and his wound draining his body. _Am I still on course?_ his clouding mind asked.

A sudden infusion of strength and clarity took him by such surprise that he stopped swimming. His body grew warmer and his muscles unknotted. With renewed vigor, Vincent grabbed Doggett by his jacket and swam into an underwater drainage tunnel.

They broke the surface, gasping for air. Vincent climbed out and offered Doggett his hand. They clambered onto relatively dry pipe and crawled for a hundred feet or so, the corrugated metal difficult to crawl on with their numbed extremities. At last emerging into a much larger tunnel, Vincent and Doggett stood up.

Doggett shed his jacket and ripped off his ski mask, while Vincent carefully removed his bloody and tattered cloak. He faced Doggett, absorbing the delayed shock he felt from the detective as he took in Vincent's appearance for the first time when he was not fighting for his life.

"She was tellin' the truth," Doggett said, eyes wide.

Vincent inclined his head. "She usually does," he said.

It should have surprised him that his wife had told Doggett their secret, but he supposed she figured that Doggett would see him during their planned fight. Besides, this man had risked everything so that he and Catherine could remain safe, could continue to live their happy life. Looking at the honest countenance of the dripping, shivering man standing before him, Vincent made a decision.

"That tunnel will take you to an exit one of my friends will show you," Vincent said, gesturing to a tunnel on the right. "If you continue with me, however, I will show you my world."

Vincent could sense and see Doggett's confusion; the rational NYPD detective was having difficulty processing the unorthodox information Vincent was telling him.

"I live down here with friends; our world is a secret place known to a select few. We share our secret only with those we deem trustworthy; you have proven yourself to be worthy of our trust by your actions tonight. You are not obligated to come with me, but I would be honored to show you my gratitude the only way I can."

"Okay," Doggett said, gathering his sodden clothes.

Vincent sensed skepticism and curiosity not unlike that exhibited by Dana Scully, whom Vincent hoped had made it to safety. _For her sake and Mulder's,_ he thought. Before he left the mouth of the drainage tunnel, he faced the entrance, looked up, and winked.

"Waddaya doin'?" Doggett asked, looking up as well.

"Saying hello to my friends," Vincent said, taking a tunnel that led straight ahead.

Vincent trudged through the tunnels, Catherine's strength alone giving him the energy and ability to put one foot in front of the other one more time. When he reached the first part of the Tunnels, he sagged with relief. Mouse was there, and Father, and…

He was vaguely aware of Doggett grabbing him around the waist and of other pairs of strong arms supporting him, but he slipped into the comfort of Catherine's sent warmth and love and knew no more.

XXX

"Peter," Catherine said.

Joe's eyes snapped open. "Radcliffe?"

"Take me to Peter," Catherine said.

The ambulance hit a pothole, the jostle dislodging a corner of Catherine's aluminum thermal blanket. _I probably look like a disheveled Tin Man,_ she thought. _Oil can…_She tucked the blanket closer and lifted her head from Joe's shoulder, taking in the scene.

She and Joe were sitting in a corner, ignored by everyone. Mulder was the focus, everyone trying to treat his wounds and raise his body temperature. Scully alternated between patient and physician, one moment allowing an EMT to treat her injuries and another moment rushing to Mulder's side, insisting he be treated just so.

"Agent Scully, you promised that you would allow us to treat you during the ride if we allowed you to assist in our care of Agent Mulder once we reach the hospital," a harried EMT said, gently but firmly pushing Scully back into her seat.

"I'm fine," Scully said.

"You have multiple lacerations and contusions. Your body temperature is low. You're exhausted," the EMT said.

"In other words, I'm fine," Scully said. "I've also had experience with treating Agent Mulder due to exposure."

Catherine was thankful for Mulder's groan because it caused Scully to miss the suggestive smile on the EMT's face. Scully immediately rose from her seat and rushed to Mulder's side, brushing off the hands that tried to hold her back.

"Radcliffe?" Joe said. "Are you okay?"

"I will be," Catherine said. "Once I get home."

"You'll be home soon, Radcliffe," Joe said, "but you hafta get checked out first. Dr. Alcott will be waiting; we called him as soon as we knew you'd been kidnapped. Why are you so eager to see him?"

"Just a feeling," Catherine said. "Something I felt when I retreated so far into myself."

"You gave us all quite a scare," Joe said.

"I was needed elsewhere," Catherine said.

Joe and Catherine were silent, both unwilling to risk being overheard. _Trust no one,_ Catherine could imagine Mulder saying.

Memories had assaulted her during her swim from the _Compass Rose_, reminding her of when she had been kidnapped by a psychopath who had been spying on her and Vincent. She remembered the terror of being locked in the trunk of the car, helpless against the icy water gradually filling the small space. Nearing death, she had been talking to her deceased parents when Vincent had somehow followed her, bringing her back to life.

"I felt you go," he had whispered brokenly, clutching her to him.

As terrible as those memories had felt to relive, they had inspired Catherine's last words to Joe on the dock and her attempt to bolster Vincent's failing strength. She could no more explain how she had sent so much of herself through the Bond than she could explain the other peculiarities of her and Vincent's relationship.

Vincent was now resting soundly, his extraordinary healing capabilities kicking in. He would sleep for at least a day; all she wanted to do was join him.

The ambulance stopped, and chaos erupted as Scully jumped out of the ambulance and started ordering everyone around. Catherine was amused to see how everyone obeyed Scully, no one willing to get between her and her wounded partner. The "you tell her she's not in charge" looks on the EMTs' faces were priceless; Catherine had a feeling Scully had been in this position before and that those hapless doctors and nurses had fared no better than these.

"Cathy," Peter said, walking up to the ambulance and helping her step down.

"I'm fine, Peter," Catherine said, "except for a slight…something I felt when I…never mind. The sooner we do this, the sooner I can get home."

Catherine watched as a bedraggled yet firmly-in-charge Agent Scully reeled off a line of nearly unintelligible jargon followed by a "stat!" The orderly turned to execute the order so quickly, Catherine would not have been surprised to see him return to Scully with the requested item in his mouth, tail wagging. _Then Scully would have reprimanded him for being unsanitary…_

Peter led her to a quieter room, the silence a nice reprieve from the chaos to which she had been subjected for the better part of the evening. Joe stood guard outside, refusing to leave Catherine alone but understanding the need for privacy. He also asked her if she were okay, so she gave him the same answer she had given Joe. His relieved look suggested that he had understood the hidden message; the Gunmen had only been able to tell him so much.

Catherine let her mind wander as Peter ran his tests, comforting her children through their bonds. She could tell they were near Vincent, probably in the same room. Soon, she would join them there. _Soon_…

"Cathy," Peter said, looking up from one of his tests. "I think I found your 'something.'"

Catherine figured it out the same moment Peter did, and was even more anxious to go home to Vincent and her children.

XXX

Mulder awoke, uncertain of his current location or circumstances. _In other words, status quo,_ he thought.

_The Smell_. What he thought of as "the Smell" assaulted his senses, the acrid scent of disinfectant searing his nose and the cleanliness of it scouring his lungs. Over the past two years, however, the Smell had been accompanied by something much more pleasant, something he referred to as "the Sight."

The Smell was unpleasant, but the Sight almost made hospital visits worthwhile. Assuming this was a typical hospital visit, he would turn his head in the other direction and would inevitably look into the beautiful, concerned blue eyes of his devoted partner. He delayed doing so for a few seconds, letting the anticipation build. Slowly, he turned his head and saw…

An empty chair. His lower lip stuck out in a pout, and his eyes glowered with the beginnings of a petulant tantrum. How could she leave him? After all they'd been through…

She walked through the door, and all was forgiven. For from her purse, she withdrew the Taste, which had, unfortunately, never been previously associated with hospital visits. Aliens could be lurking right outside his door, but as long as he had the Taste, he could be content.

"How did you convince those wardens to let me have these?" Mulder asked, reaching out for the bag of sunflower seeds.

"How do you know they're wardens, Mulder?" Scully asked.

"They're doctors, Scully," Mulder said.

"I'm a doctor," Scully pointed out, quirking an eyebrow.

"Yeah, but you're different."

"How?"

"You're…Scully," Mulder said.

"You're full of keen observations today," Scully said.

"Fine," Mulder said. "So how did you get those nurses to let me have my sunflower seeds that you are going to hand me right now?"

"I didn't," Scully said, setting her purse down in a corner. "I was approached by an elderly gentleman pushing a snack cart while I was purchasing food from a vending machine. He handed me these and told me they were 'just what Dr. Alcott ordered.'"

Scully sat down in her chair and handed the bag to Mulder. _Scully's eyes and sunflower seeds, _Mulder thought. _Maybe hospitals aren't so bad after all._

Mulder opened the bag and withdrew a folded piece of parchment.

"_Due to the tragic events of this evening, any and all festivities will be delayed until tomorrow evening,"_ Mulder read.

He handed the letter to Scully, turning his attention to the sunflower seeds in the bag.

"Hey!" Mulder said. "This bag's empty! No sunflower seeds!"

"I thought the bag felt a little light, so I purchased this from the vending machine," Scully said, handing Mulder a second sunflower seed bag she had hidden behind her back.

"What would I do without you, Scully?" Mulder said, tearing into the bag and sighing in ecstasy as he popped the first seed into his mouth.

Footsteps sounded right outside the door, causing Mulder and Scully to look at one another in panic. Scully scooted her chair closer to Mulder and placed her hand in his, effectively covering up the sunflower seed bag. Mulder tucked the seed between his gums and the side of his mouth like he had learned to do as a boy sneaking seeds in class.

The doctor entered the room and saw two good friends clasping hands. He smiled benignly at them, giving Mulder the inconvenient urge to giggle. Turning his attention to Mulder's medical charts, the doctor looked down long enough for Scully to deftly palm the sunflower seeds and deposit them who-knew-where in her scrubs.

"The patient is progressing satisfactorily with no traces of aftereffects or infection," Scully said, all business.

"Yes, Dr. Scully," the doctor said.

"In fact, I submit that the patient will be ready for discharge first thing tomorrow," Scully said.

"Actually, Dr. Scully—"

"The patient's vital signs are more than satisfactory. His lacerations and contusions—aside from the gunshot wound—are shallow and superficial. He manifests no symptoms of concussion or hypothermia. There is absolutely no reason to prevent this patient from leaving this facility tomorrow—or at least from obtaining a decent meal tonight."

_The Sound,_ Mulder thought. _The Sound of Scully bullying another doctor on my behalf. _

"I'll have an orderly bring Agent Mulder a plate of our best cuisine right away," the doctor said, making his escape.

Mulder flexed his jaw, shifting the helpless seed between his molars and biting down.

"You almost had me convinced I was fit to be discharged immediately. Why didn't you try to spring me tonight?"

"I remembered our hotel and decided that our present accommodations were superior."

"I think you do our hotel a disservice, Scully. I find it kind of homey."

"Homely, maybe," Scully said. "Your stomach also chose an inopportune time to air its many grievances."

"You could go back to the room, get some sleep," Mulder said.

An orderly wheeled a food cart into the room, setting a tray of scrumptious-looking hospital food on his lap. _Scrumptious as Tooms' nest_, Mulder thought. He thanked the orderly and waited for her to leave so he could reclaim his seeds. Before the orderly could leave the room, another wheeled in a portable bed.

"Spend another night at that dive when I could experience these posh accommodations on the Bureau's dime? Not a chance," Scully said.

"A moment ago, Dr. Scully, you felt the patient to be in sufficient health to check out tomorrow. If he requires such limited care, why is it necessary to constantly monitor him yourself?" the doctor asked, reentering the room.

"The patient experienced gastric pangs, convincing me that further observation and attention were necessary."

"Of course, Dr. Scully," the doctor said, smirking.

Scully met his smirk with a glare, her blue eyes bathing the good doctor in waves of glacial freeze. He faltered and left the room.

"Finally," Scully muttered, retrieving the seeds from—the angle was wrong, so the mystery remained unsolved, its own X-File.

Mulder took the proffered bag of seeds and stuck another kernel in his mouth. _I would kill for an iced tea,_ Mulder thought. _Not that that wish came true last time, and surely I would have seen…_

Scully walked over to the corner and picked up her purse; she opened it and pulled out a paper bag. Grinning as she walked toward Mulder, she partially opened the bag before handing it to him.

"Must be fate," she said, "although I cannot vouch for the quality given that this is New York."

Mulder reached into the bag and pulled out a white Styrofoam cup and a wrapped straw, already anticipating drinking the sweet, dark nectar tantalizingly visible through the translucent plastic lid.

"Scully…" Mulder said, at loss for words.

"Do you want me to have to report that my patient refused to take the proper treatments to remedy his gastric pangs?"

"When have you ever known me to disobey a doctor's orders?" Mulder asked, looking up at Scully innocently.

She ran her fingers through his hair, ostensibly to check his stitches. "No leakage is visible, so the patient's memories have not seeped out of his cranial lacerations."

_The Touch…_

XXX

Daddy was so still, but Grandfather had told him Daddy was only sleeping very soundly. Mommy had also told him so with her mind, but if Daddy was only asleep, why was Grandfather still sitting in the chair by Daddy's bed?

Mommy walked in; Jacob left Daddy and ran to give Mommy a hug. He jumped into her arms, and she held him tight.

"Is Daddy gonna be okay?" Jacob asked. He couldn't imagine Daddy not being okay, but his chest was barely moving up and down.

"Daddy will be fine, Jacob," Mommy said. "He's just very tired. Father is tired as well; Uncle Peter has come to take his place so Father can sleep."

"How is he?" Uncle Peter asked Grandfather, walking over to Vincent's bed.

"Stable," Grandfather said, sounding awfully tired. "There's never much I can do for him when he's in this state; his remarkable body heals itself. Only one variable has ever affected Vincent's ability to heal."

"I've been called worse things than a variable," Catherine said, pulling pajamas out of her drawer and walking behind her privacy screen.

"What's a varyble?" Jacob asked.

"A variable is one point of many that can impact a given situation," Grandfather explained. "For example, when concocting a scheme, you have to plot out several different possibilities and possible outcomes."

"Like the plan everyone worked so hard on?" Jacob said. "Did it have a lot of varybles?"

"Yes, Jacob," Mommy said, returning to Vincent's bedside. "The plan had many variables, including a few extra."

"Different possibilities and possible outcomes?" Jacob asked, trying to sound as smart as Grandfather. Big words sometimes came easily to him, and he noticed that saying them made grownups smile.

"Yes," Catherine said, tearing up.

"Why are you crying, Mommy?" Jacob said. "Did one of the varybles mess up?"

"Sometimes, honey, you have to deal with variables you were not expecting. Daddy was not supposed to get hurt, but he did. Morris… Grandfather called me a variable because I can help Daddy heal faster just by sleeping next to him."

"Cool!" Jacob said. "I wish I could do that."

"Maybe you can," Mommy said, climbing into bed beside Daddy and patting the bed. "We are all connected, so maybe Daddy will heal even faster if you sleep next to him, too."

"What about Caroline? Could she help Daddy heal faster than fast?" Jacob asked.

"What did I tell you about speaking like Mouse, young man?" Grandfather said.

"Oops," Jacob said. "Sorry, Grandfather. I just got excited."

"I don't blame you," Grandfather said, looking old and tired. "Maybe all of you together can help Vincent heal more quickly."

"Can I go get Caroline, Mommy? Can I? Please?" Jacob said.

"I think that's an excellent idea, Jacob," Mommy said.

"All of us will help Daddy heal extra fast," Jacob said, running toward Caroline's chamber doorway.

"All of us," Jacob heard Mommy whisper as he gently shook Caroline awake.


	13. Chapter 13

Disclaimer: I own neither Beauty & the Beast nor X-Files.

_Thursday, February 23, 1995_

The wind buffeted every part of Scully, her hair swirling around her face. She pulled her new trench coat tighter, glad that she and Mulder had gone shopping immediately after his early morning check-out. The Tunnels residents called this place the Chamber of the Winds; given the way the wind howled and shrieked around the entire cavern, Scully found the name accurate.

This was obviously the hard way to the Great Hall, but she could tell all the Tunnels residents and Helpers enjoyed the experience, even the children. While descending the stairs in such a gale was treacherous, the Tunnels people were clearly used to such peril.

Scully walked on Mulder's right side, protecting his wound from being jostled by residents and Helpers. Inspiration struck, and she put a steadying hand at the small of Mulder's back. Startled, he looked down at her, eyes sparkling at her cheeky grin.

She watched Catherine as Vincent opened the Great Hall doors, amused at the obvious emotions displayed. _She watched Vincent open these doors just two evenings ago, yet she just watched him as if he had never done this before. In twenty-five years, she'll probably still enjoy watching him…_

The way parted for the two agents, residents and Helpers gesturing for them to go through the doors first. Scully removed her hand from Mulder's back, cheeks flushing.

Scully and Mulder walked into the darkness, following Vincent and Catherine. Others who participated in the plan walked in, obviously given deferential treatment. Everyone gathered in a circle in the middle of the dark room, Vincent slowly forcing the large, wooden doors closed after the last person.

Standing in the dark was an eerie feeling, Mulder and the person squeezed next to her left being the only people of which she had a true sense. She heard a shuffling sound and realized Father must be making his way to the center of the circle.

"First, we shall have a moment of silence for James Morris. His final, courageous act sent the _Compass Rose_ out to sea, likely saving the lives of all others on board."

Scully bowed her head and said a short prayer for Morris's soul. Her hand found her golden cross around her neck; she was grateful for the darkness.

"We shall also have a shorter moment of silence for those who were injured in the execution of the plan. While they did not sacrifice their lives, they still suffered pain and fear."

Scully thought of Mulder's side, of those unknown, masked officers who had been nicked and bruised by shrapnel as she had. _I feel like one of those punching bags that bounces back up right after you punch it._

"We would like to thank—"

Someone accidentally brushed up against Mulder's wounded side, causing him to grunt in pain. Scully cursed herself for forgetting to stand at his right; she and Mulder switched places, Scully taking up her protective position.

"Winterfest is about chasing away darkness with light. We just celebrated Winterfest, but if ever there were a time to celebrate light triumphing over darkness, it is now. I tried to convince people to host a simpler affair, but I was overruled. Mouse, especially, has outdone himself, courtesy of a generator borrowed from the Lone Gunmen and the contributions of numerous Tunnels residents and Helpers."

Scully gasped along with everyone else as she heard a switch flip and saw the Great Hall come alive with thousands of Christmas lights of various shapes and sizes. She was not surprised to see that Mouse had not adhered to any pattern of decoration; large C9s were strung up next to classic whites, and regular multi-colored strands glowed next to plastic, glowing snowmen and Christmas trees. The effect was spectacular, the seeming randomness of it all creating a tapestry as beautiful as the ancient ones hanging on the walls.

The size of the Great Hall prohibited even a lot of small lights from sufficiently lighting the whole room, so partially-filled chandeliers were hoisted. While the Great Hall was well-lit, the wider diffusion of light created an ethereal glow.

"If nobody else has anything to say—"

"Actually, Father," Vincent said, coming into the center with his family.

"We do have something to tell everyone," Catherine said.

"While Peter was checking out Catherine yesterday—"

"He discovered that—"

"We're going to have a baby," they both said.

_Our escape from the Compass Rose was neat and orderly compared to this chaos,_ Scully thought in the wake of Vincent and Catherine's announcement. The circle began to break up, so she escorted Mulder safely out of the way to a chair along a glowing wall.

XXX

"Veencent!" Narcissa said, her milky-white eyes in her dark face giving her smile an especially bright appearance.

"Hello, Narcissa," Vincent said, gently wrapping the old woman in a hug.

"Congrashulations to you and Cathreen," she said.

"I didn't see you with the other revelers, Narcissa," Vincent said, clasping her hands in his. "Did you sneak in during the darkness?"

"No, Veencent," Narcissa said, smiling mysteriously, "I jus' came een."

Vincent considered asking her how she had known about the child in his wife's womb if she had not heard their announcement, but thought better of it.

"Dees chil' weel be de mos' special yet," Narcissa said. "De fate o'de whole worl'…"

She trailed off and shuffled away, seeing and hearing things nobody else could.

Vincent smiled as he contemplated telling Catherine of Narcissa's predictions; she always laughed at him for believing in the old lady's magic, but she had never led him astray. He turned around and rejoined his wife.

XXX

"Cathy!" Nancy said, hugging Catherine.

"I'm so glad you made it!" Catherine said.

"We couldn't make Winterfest, but when Jenny passed on your message about this little shindig…Congratulations!"

"Thanks, Nancy," Catherine said, beaming. "You know, I don't think I would be here without you."

"Nonsense, Cathy," Nancy said. "You're a smart woman; you would never have left Vincent. Not for good."

"I almost have," Catherine whispered. "Several times…"

"But you're still living that happy life your mother wanted so desperately for you to have. We're all proud of you, Cathy."

Catherine hugged Nancy, thankful for such a wonderful friend.

XXX

"Mr. Mulder?" a young woman's voice said at his shoulder.

He turned to face her.

"Hello, Samantha," he said.

"I'm sorry if I did something the other night that made you uncomfortable," she said.

"No," Mulder said. "Please don't blame yourself. My sister was taken from me when I was a boy; she would've been your age and looks…probably would have looked something like you."

"Was her name Samantha, too?" Samantha asked.

"Yes," Mulder said. "She also had long, dark hair and a beautiful smile. Now you understand why you reminded me of her."

"I'm sorry," Samantha said.

"Don't be," Mulder said.

"Would you like to get some of William's homemade wine with me?"

"I don't usually drink, but after last night…I'd like that."

Scully was supposed to bring him a drink and some food, but Mulder could not see her. In this instance, he knew she would not mind. He gingerly stood up and offered his arm to Samantha.

XXX

Scully sipped from her goblet, complementing William on his wine-making skills.

"I've been a cook for many years," William said, "and I learned to make wine from the best. When I was a young man, I lived in California—"

A sudden flash of blue caught Scully's eye. Kristopher Gentian was standing in a group of people, grinning at her and raising his goblet.

"Will you excuse me for a moment, William?" Scully said.

Scully wended her way through the crowd as quickly as she could while carrying two goblets of wine. She approached the group of people in which Kristopher Gentian had been standing, only to note that he had disappeared.

"Excuse me," Scully said. "Could one of you please tell me where that gentleman in the Mets cap went? I've been wanting to talk to him for the past several days."

Blank stares met her request.

"We four have been standing in this corner talking for the past fifteen minutes. Nobody else has joined or left our conversation," said a young man in Tunnels garb.

"But I saw Kristopher Gentian standing right here," Scully said, crossing her arms.

Sly smiles and smothered chuckles met Scully's declaration.

"Perhaps he was standing here," said a woman. "Kristopher Gentian is only visible when he wants to be visible."

"I know I saw him, and I'm going to find him if I have to search the entire Great Hall," Scully said, already scanning the room for blue.

"Good luck with that, miss," an older gentleman said.

"He was right here," Scully said desperately.

"Spooky!" Mouse said, carrying two plates of food and grinning madly.

"You have no idea," Scully muttered.

XXX

"Whoa, Little Bro!" Vincent heard behind him. "What a spread! Are we at the right party?"

"Devin," Vincent said, turning around and enveloping his brother in a hug.

"And Charles," Devin said, gesturing grandly behind him.

"It's wonderful to see you as well, Charles," Vincent said, hugging the other man.

"What's the occasion? I thought I'd drop in, see the old man, my little bro, and his beautiful family, and peace out. Instead, I find the Tunnels deserted and…" Devin gestured at the Christmas lights and groaning tables.

"It's a long story, Devin," Vincent said.

"Those are my favorite," Devin said. "Lemme get some chow and a nice, overflowing goblet of William's wine and you can tell me all about it. Can you give me a hint?"

"It involves government agents, conspiracy theorists, exes, babies, crossbows, heart-to-hearts, explosions, miscreants, and bullets," Vincent said.

"Maybe I should make that two goblets of William's wine," Devin said, leading Charles towards the food.

"It's good to have you home," Vincent said.

"It's good to be home, Little Bro," Devin said. "At least for a few days."

XXX

"What did you learn from watching film?" Mulder asked the Gunmen, who were bleary-eyed from looking at camera footage from the docks all day.

"Besides the fact that Scully's 'serious doctor' face is really hot?" Frohike said.

"You should see her mischievous grin when she's just snuck you iced tea and sunflower seeds. Not that that is relevant to the current conversation," Mulder said.

"What's not relevant to the current conversation?" Scully asked, walking up to Mulder and the Gunmen.

"Frohike and Mulder were just discussing some of the interesting things you can catch on camera in New York City," Byers said.

"Any insight into the sniper?" Scully said, sipping from her goblet.

"We have him on tape following Catherine and her kidnappers to the docks and choosing the warehouse as a stake-out point," Langly said. "We don't know why he chose that particular spot; perhaps he failed to allow for change of angle and distance."

"Perhaps he didn't expect to need more than one shot," Mulder said.

"How did Vincent avoid a fatal hit?" Scully said. "I was too busy trying to look like I was fighting the kidnappers to notice."

"Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a man with curly, dark hair and a Mets baseball cap standing on the docks," Vincent said. "When I quickly turned to look at him more closely, the shot rang out."

"The resident ghost?" Mulder said.

"He's at the party, but he seems to have disappeared," Scully said.

Vincent and Mulder exchanged a look.

"What about the Smoking Man?" Scully asked.

"We never saw him," Frohike said. "I find it hard to believe he wasn't there, but we have no video evidence to prove his presence."

"Not that that's ever stopped you before," Scully said.

Frohike was about to reply, but Jamie walked up to the growing group, beaming.

"He was there," she said, "but he didn't stay long. After I placed my call, I hung up and noticed him out of the corner of my eye. I doubled back, got the drop on him, and…ensured his absence."

"How did you do that?" Scully asked.

"I thought about shooting him in the back of the head for all the pain he's caused, but I couldn't do it. But I could justify causing him to leave the area, so I shot him in the…let's just say he'll have a hard time sitting down for a month or two."

Shocked expressions greeted this announcement; Mulder was the first to laugh. Everyone in the group joined in, laughing out of shared humor and relief.

"Any information he obtains about last night will be second-hand," Scully said. "That might make him more curious, more wary, but any time he's not there to observe personally, to notice discrepancies, increases the chance of his believing our account of events."

"Speaking of second-hand info, thanks for sharing with us at the time," Langly said, sounding miffed. "Of course, the image of Cancer Man with two holes in his—"

"Jamie," Mulder said, still shaking with laughter, "if you ever need anything I can give you, you have but to ask."

"'Scuse me?" Mouse asked, tapping Jamie on the shoulder. "Jamie dance with Mouse?" he asked, fidgeting.

"I'd love to," Jamie said, smiling at the group as Mouse pulled her to the dance floor.

"Somehow, I don't think you could make her that happy, Mulder," Scully said.

"What would make you both happy is a rest," Vincent said. "I know just the place. It's not too far."

XXX

Catherine watched her husband escort Mulder and Scully through the alcove door and considered following them. A familiar, lost-looking form appeared at the top of the steps, and she rushed up to meet him.

"John, welcome," Catherine said, hugging Doggett.

"Um, thanks, Ms. Chandler," Doggett said.

"Cathy," she said.

"Sorry," Doggett said, looking around. "I saw some of your world yesterday, but this is amazin'."

"Everyone contributed something; our Helpers contributed enough Christmas lights to trim several Rockefeller Plaza trees," Catherine said.

"I just can't believe…but I guess I hafta," Doggett said.

"Come on," Catherine said, leading Doggett down the steps. "Get some food, drink some homemade wine, and meet the people of our world."

Catherine could see Doggett's distraction; something was clearly on his mind. _Perhaps_—

"I been thinkin' 'bout what you said," Doggett said. "'Bout becomin' a Fed. I think I'm gonna do it, although I haven't told anyone."

"Your secret's safe with me," Catherine said, smiling.

"I don't guess you'd wanna tell anyone my secrets given the ones you hafta

keep," Doggett said.

"Eat. Drink. Be merry."

"I'll take you up on that," Doggett said.

"And John?" Catherine said.

"Yeah?"

"Call her."

"Okay," Doggett said.

XXX

Mulder and Scully sat next to one another Indian-style by the Mirror Pool.

Improbably, the night sky somehow shone down through spaces in the rock to reflect on a pool miles beneath the surface. _Improbable…_

"But not impossible," Scully said, somehow completing Mulder's thought.

"Did I say that out loud?" Mulder asked.

"No," Scully said. "But I could practically hear you thinking it."

"Spooky," Mulder said, grinning mischievously.

"You're not the first person who said that to me tonight," Scully said. "Mouse told me that Kristopher Gentian's penchant for disappearance is spooky."

"Maybe we can get Vincent and Catherine to show us that painting he completed from beyond the grave," Mulder said.

Scully was silent, surprising Mulder. He had expected witty banter, a friendly but heated debate about how Kristopher Gentian could not possibly be a ghost because ghosts did not exist, much less create works of art. Scully seemed lost in thought, staring at their images superimposed over the starry water.

Mulder examined his reflection, noting the circles under his eyes and the paleness of his face. _I'm almost as pale as Scully, _Mulder mused. _Sadly, I don't wear it nearly as well._ He looked pensive and haunted, maybe even a little spooky.

Hovering beside his reflection in the Mirror Pool was Scully. Her red hair and bright blue eyes shimmered against the backdrop of stars, and Mulder was reminded of a poem he had memorized.

"_Not from the stars do I my judgment pluck;_

_And yet methinks I have astronomy,_

_But not to tell of good or evil luck,_

_Of plagues, of dearths, or seasons' quality;_

_Nor can I fortune to brief minutes tell,_

_Pointing to each his thunder, rain, and wind,_

_Or say with princes of it shall go well,_

_By oft predict that I in heaven find:_

_But from thine eyes my knowledge I derive,_

_And, constant stars, in them I read such art_

_As 'Truth and beauty shall together thrive,_

_If from thyself to store thou wouldst convert;'_

_Or else of thee this I prognosticate:_

'_Thy end is truth's and beauty's doom and date.'"_

"You never cease to amaze me, Mulder," Scully said.

"I memorized that in high school. All the other boys were memorizing Shakespearean scenes that involved battles or insults, but I…I was different. I chose Sonnet Fourteen. Perhaps it reminded me of my picture of Samantha, how I would look into her eyes... Today, it reminds me of what's important. While I doubt this poem means to me exactly what it meant to the Bard, he probably would have agreed with me about the value of constant stars."

Scully looked at Mulder for a moment before returning her gaze to the Mirror Pool. Mulder examined her profile, noticing how the stitches and bandages enhanced her honest strength. _Truth and beauty shall together thrive…_

Mulder and Scully sat side by side, looking down at the stars.


	14. Chapter 14

Elliot Burch was standing in a group, talking and laughing as if he were having the time of his life. And he was. All of his questions—most of them, anyway—about Cathy had finally been answered, and he was visiting the most amazing place he had ever been.

_Funny,_ he thought. _Up there, I can go anywhere I want. I can buy anything I want. Yet nowhere I've ever been compares to this place._

True, he had been to beautiful, impressive places. He had met nice people. He had, on occasion, felt that magic that lends a location an otherworldly quality. However, he had never been anywhere that combined all those variables at once. _And I didn't have to pay a thing._

That was not entirely true; he had, after all, purchased much of the necessary equipment for their little scheme to protect Vincent. _Vincent._ Few women turned down Elliot Burch; no woman turned down Elliot Burch for a less-attractive, poorer man. Except one. The only one he had ever truly wanted.

Laughter sounded around him, and he instinctively laughed as well. He could do meet-and-greet stuff like this as easily as others breathed. Humor was the last thing on his mind, but nobody else had to know that.

_Why am I still here? I've been here long enough to justify leaving, and it's not like anyone would miss me._

Cathy welcomed another newcomer, gesturing around the room and trying to put him at ease. He eventually acquiesced, and she turned to leave, presumably to follow Vincent. And she saw Elliot.

He broke away from the group, already formulating his excuses. _Meetings. Work. Charity. Sleep. Like she'd believe that last one. _

"Enjoying yourself, Elliot?" Catherine said, smiling at him.

"It's a great party, Cathy," Elliot said. "You have something truly wonderful here."

"I do," she said, hesitating. "Elliot, I'd like to show you something that will help you understand our world."

His excuses died on his lips, any reason to spend time with Cathy immediately overriding any other thought or impulse. He followed her out the service entrance and walked with her through numerous tunnels.

He remembered that terrible night so clearly. Goronistas shooting at him, blowing up the helicopter with his father inside, and pursuing him down a dead-end alley. Cathy pulling up the manhole cover and jumping down, calling for him to do the same. Using the manhole cover as a bullet-proof shield. Terrible roars and screams sounding directly above. Wandering the tunnels for hours, only to discover that Cathy knew exactly where she was, and exactly where she was going.

_More secrets? What kind of trust is that? The only kind I have to offer…_

Cathy led him to a tunnel that looked like it was quite close to the surface. Its curved, gray walls were covered with highly-detailed paintings of people and places.

"This looks like a chronicle of life in New York City," Elliot said, spellbound.

"Elizabeth was mysterious, never telling anybody anything about her life Above," Catherine said. "To the end, she stayed in this tunnel, painting things she had seen not only with her eyes, but in the words of others."

"Here you are, Cathy," Elliot said, walking closer to the smooth wall.

"Vincent and me on our wedding day," Cathy said.

Elliot quickly moved on to another painting that caught his eye.

"Baby Vincent?" Elliot asked, looking closer. "Why is it cracked? Did she paint around the damage?"

"No, Elliot," Cathy said. "That painting was damaged about six years ago. Explosions were threatening to collapse these tunnels, this world. So I stopped them."

"Six years…"

Comprehension hit Elliot, causing the blood to drain from his cheeks. _I did this._ Introspection was not Elliot's strong point; rarely did he consider anyone else's feelings to be as important as his own. _But this is physical. I can touch this crack, see the damage._

He blindly turned around and came face-to-face with The Spot. The woman had painted a vivid replica of the artist's rendition of Burch Tower nestled into the New York City skyline. Reaching out his hand, he reverently traced every spire, every line, every plane of this rendering of his magnificent creation. The creation that would have cemented him as the most important person in New York City. The creation that would have destroyed the most amazing place he had ever been.

Minutes, hours, days passed before that mural, thoughts and feelings aligning in his mind as easily for once as did his business deals. He came to realize…what?

_I don't regret the life I've lived. Being rich and powerful is better than being poor and unimportant. I don't regret the idea of Burch Tower, either._

He looked at The Spot; he turned around and looked at the cracked painting of Baby Vincent. _I don't regret the idea of Burch Tower, but many would have had just cause to regret the reality._

"Cathy…" he said, words deserting him as they only ever did around her.

"I'm not condemning you, Elliot," Cathy said, placing a hand on his arm. "I just want you to understand."

"I understand," Elliot said bitterly. "My dreams live here, more than I ever knew."

"There is so much good you can do with your wealth, Elliot," Cathy said. "Vincent and I owe you our lives. Again."

"At least this time, I finally got some answers," Elliot said.

"Do you want to go back to the party?" Cathy asked.

"I think I'd like to go home, although I need to collect my jacket," Elliot said.

They walked back toward that room—the Great Hall, was it?—in silence. Walking through the door of the service entrance, Elliot spotted Luz Corrales getting a mug of cider.

"Perhaps I'll stay, after all," Elliot said.

"I'd like that," Cathy said, walking away.

_And the Grinch's heart grew three sizes that day,_ Elliot thought cynically, but not without a smile.

XXX

"You alright, Doggett?" Joe said, snapping Doggett out of his daydream.

"Yeah. Fine," Doggett said. "I just got a lot on my mind."

"Still beat from yesterday?" Greg Hughes asked.

"A little, but I been thinkin'…" Doggett hesitated, but decided to just get it out there. "I been thinkin' 'bout movin' outta the city."

"You gonna get a small place in the 'burbs?" Joe said.

"No, I mean outta New York City. This place is killin' me. Too many memories. I need a fresh start somewhere else," Doggett said.

"Are you sure 'bout that?" Joe said. "This seems awful sudden. If this is about last night…"

"It is about last night in a way, but this feelin's been growin' on me for months. Yesterday afternoon, I felt excitement like I haven't felt in weeks on the job. Doin' somethin' new was just what the doctor ordered. As I swam outta that hatch in the bottom of the _Compass Rose_ and started losin' my way, I realized how much I wanted to live. Bein' here, in this place…" Doggett gestured, trailing off.

"I guess I can respect that," Joe said. "Got any ideas?"

"I been thinkin' 'bout callin' a friend in the FBI," Doggett said.

"You wanna be a Fed?" Joe said.

"Those Feds who helped us out last night weren't so bad," Hughes said. "They both put themselves on the line even though they didn't have to."

"I thought about bein' a cop in another city, but I wanna new challenge. I wanna throw myself into doin' somethin' I never done before, you know? Cathy thinks it's a good idea."

"I learned a long time ago that it's never a good idea to argue with Radcliffe," Joe said.

"You learned your lesson well," Catherine said, walking up to the group.

All the men laughed and started telling stories about Catherine's days in the DA's office. As interesting as the stories were shaping up to be, Doggett had too much on his mind to concentrate on them.

"You look tired, John," Catherine said.

"Yeah, I better turn in. Long shift," he said.

The other officers laughed knowingly.

"Jenny and I are about ready to go, too, although we'd love to stay," Joe said. "Sadly, we both have work in the morning, unlike you lazy Tunnels people."

"Are you kidding me?" Catherine said. "It'll take us a full week just to clean up the Great Hall."

"Cleaning up after a party? Ouch. Your workload has only gotten heavier since you left me, Radcliffe."

"Besides, I have to take care of Vincent," Catherine said.

"Bull," Joe said. "He took a round from a high-caliber sniper rifle that woulda turned anyone else into Jello and he's up walkin' around and opening the Great Hall doors the next day. How is that fair?"

"Vincent's had his fair share of troubles, although he'd probably say that he's happier than he deserves to be," Catherine said.

"Which is a lie," Jenny said, joining her husband. "Vincent deserves only the best."

"Here, here!" the group said, raising their goblets.

Catherine's eyes went distant for a moment, causing Doggett concern. He was about to say something when he realized that the others were smiling. A gentle smile lit up Catherine's face, and she returned her attention to the group.

"I guess that's our cue," Joe said, taking his wife's hand.

"What was that all about?" Doggett asked.

"We'll explain on the way," Jenny said.

"Thanks for coming, you guys," Catherine said, hugging each of them. "And John?"

"Yeah, yeah, Cathy," John said. "I will."

"If you ever need anything…"

"I'll ask."

And he would, although he couldn't imagine ever needing her help for anything. _What am I gonna say to Monica when I call her? I need to start lookin' for a place…_

_XXX_

"These are our chambers," Vincent said, escorting Mulder and Scully into the bedroom.

Catherine walked in right behind Vincent. Scully contemplated asking how Catherine had known their location, but she knew what answer she would receive. Instead, she paid attention to Vincent and Catherine.

"If you want to understand Kristopher Gentian, look at this picture of us he painted," Catherine said.

Scully walked toward the painting, Mulder right behind her. The painting was as mesmerizing as the Mirror Pool, but for different reasons. _I could look at this painting for hours and still see something new_, she thought.

Vincent, garbed in his cape and other Tunnels clothing, stood behind Catherine, a possessive, protective expression on his face. Catherine stood in front of him in a stunning red dress, strength and passion expressed on her face and by her body. One of Vincent's large, gloved hands stretched across Catherine's collarbone; the other splayed across her lower abdomen.

_Mine,_ the postures of both people seemed to say. _Lovers, friends, protectors. Together, we can take on the world._

"When did Gentian paint this?" Scully asked.

"We're not entirely sure," Catherine answered. "A man who knew Kristopher claimed that he identified Gentian's body two years before this picture was painted, but I was never able to verify his claims."

"However, my love," Vincent said, "allow me to remind you that Kristopher could not have induced the oil paints to dry so quickly. Oil paints take a long time to completely dry, and my nail brought away no trace of paint when I touched it that night. It is highly improbable that Kristopher could have painted the picture that day and produced a dry canvas by night."

"But not impossible," Scully said.

"You're just unwilling to accept that this incredible picture was painted by a ghost," Mulder said.

"And you're just unwilling to accept that Gentian might have invented fast-drying oil paint," Scully said. "Or perhaps he glimpsed both Vincent and Catherine years ago and lied to her about having just met her."

"We've had this discussion numerous times over the past five years," Vincent said.

"And it never ends well," Catherine said.

"Thanks for showing us, though," Mulder said. "It's incredible."

_Time to be the bad guy,_ Scully thought.

"Mulder, we really need to go Above. If the Smoking Man is watching Catherine's home, he would find it unusual to note that we stayed the entire night."

_Mulder whining in 3…2…1…_

"Do we have to, Scully?" Mulder said. "I never got to see the Chamber of the Falls, and Catherine told me about this place called the Painted Tunnels…"

"We need to put on a show for anyone watching," Scully said. "As much as it pains me to admit, we need to go back to our five-star motel to satisfy the Bureau's curiosity."

"Wouldn't saving the Bureau money satisfy the Bureau?" Mulder asked.

"But we can't tell them why we saved them money. 'We stayed with Catherine Chandler and her supposedly dead husband miles beneath New York City in their hidden community after staging a plot to fake his death' would probably not get us a Bureau commendation."

"I've always wanted one of those," Mulder said.

"We're not exactly on the fast track, Mulder," Scully said. "Speaking of 'fast track,' we really need to go."

"I'll escort you up," Catherine said. "We can say goodbye conspicuously on my front stoop. I'll cry effusively and weep forlornly. Shakespeare would be proud."

"I'll tuck the children in and go back to the party," Vincent said. "I'm exhausted, but I have a feeling this party is going to continue into the wee hours. They've done so much for us, Catherine; my presence is the least I can offer."

"Join you soon," Catherine said, giving her husband a light kiss.

Mulder and Scully walked out of the chamber, Catherine right behind them. _I can't blame Mulder, really,_ Scully thought. _I wish we could stay, too._

XXX

"What did you want to give me, Mouse?" Jamie asked again.

"Surprise," Mouse said. "Same as last time you asked."

"Sorry," Jamie said.

"Okay, good; okay fine," Mouse said, not wanting Jamie to be sad.

"Here," Mouse said, leading Jamie into his chamber.

She looked around like always; Jamie liked Mouse's gizmos. Mouse hoped she'd like this one.

"Surprise," Mouse said, handing Jamie a long, polished mahogany case.

She opened it and gasped.

"Mouse," Jamie whispered. "It's…"

She carefully set the case down on a rare free surface on one of Mouse's work tables, pulling out a full-sized crossbow. Stained dark like the case, the crossbow was solid yet elegant. While it was larger than Jamie's old mini crossbow, it handled just as easy in Jamie's hands, just as Mouse knew it would.

Mouse watched, eyes wide, as Jamie's fingers traced the graceful lines of the crossbow.

"Like it?" Mouse asked.

"Oh, Mouse," Jamie said, pretending to draw a bead on several points. "It's beautiful."

"Like Jamie," Mouse said, blushing.

Jamie stared at Mouse, so Mouse talked more.

"Found old book, Father's study," Mouse said. "Found wood above. Found, not stole; don't look at Mouse that way. Worked on for weeks, finished bolts today, gave to Jamie. Good as done."

"Thank you, Mouse," Jamie said, setting the crossbow in its case and pulling Mouse into a hug. "Would you like to try it out with me?"

"Target practice?" Mouse asked, eyes lighting up.

Of course, Mouse had already tested the crossbow. Mouse would never give Jamie anything but better than best. Still, target practice with Mouse and Jamie would be better than target practice with just Mouse. _Better than better, _Mouse thought. _Better than best._

XXX

_Fools._

The thought seemed to float in the frigid air in front of the Cigarette Smoking Man, mingling with the smoke of his latest cigarette.

Fox and Dana stood with Ms. Chandler on her front stoop, shaking hands and exchanging pleasantries. All three looked exhausted by their ordeals; all three appeared to bear wounds that went beneath the surface.

_Fools,_ he thought again. _That creature's blood might have held the secret to saving mankind. I gift-wrapped this case for Fox, and he still failed. The clues were more easily laid out than ever before, yet he failed to make the necessary connections._

The Smoking Man took another drag, scowling as Fox and Dana walked down the stairs and into their cab, Fox opening the door for Dana in spite of his recent injury. Catherine stood on the stoop, eyes filled with despair.

_We could've saved the world, Ms. Chandler. You, I, and your lover. The cost would have been hard to bear, but many of us have had to bear equally steep costs in this quest to save humanity. Perhaps your son…_

The Smoking Man watched Ms. Chandler walk into her home and close the door, looking for all the world as if she had no reason left to live. _For all the world…_

He considered taking Ms. Chandler's son, but the blood tests in his possession—limited as they were—suggested that the son's blood was not compatible with the father's. He considered the foolishness of the men he had hired, vowing to never again use people he could not control. He considered many things that night, standing in the shadows around Catherine Chandler's brownstone.

Her bedroom light came on; the shutters were closed, so the Smoking Man had to imagine what was going on. The light turned off, and he pictured Ms. Chandler crawling into bed, trying to accept that the one she loved most was never coming home.

_You'll get used to it eventually,_ he thought, dropping the cigarette butt on the concrete and crushing it under his heel. _I did._


	15. Chapter 15

Disclaimer: I own neither X-Files nor B&tB. The quoted dialogue is from the Star Trek: Original Series episode "Empath" from season three.

_Friday, February 24, 1995_

_She expects me to believe this crap?_ Assistant Director Skinner thought, reading Agent Scully's report. _It's technically also Agent Mulder's report, so perhaps that explains some of Agent Scully's less-than-precise phrasing._

Skinner was tempted to glance at the smoking figure standing behind his chair, but he did not want to give the Smoking Man the satisfaction. _Guess it's up to me to try to make chicken salad out of chicken…_

"Agent Scully," Skinner said, "could you please explain to me exactly what you mean by, 'A large, human form—which may or may not have been a man, a beast, or some combination thereof—landed on the deck, producing a sound that may or may not have been a scream, a roar, or some combination thereof.'"

"What about that description is unclear?" Agent Scully asked, arching an eyebrow.

"It's imprecise," Skinner said. "Undefined. Was it a man or a beast? Did it scream or roar? These do not seem like difficult details to verify."

Agents Mulder and Scully exchanged glances, and the jumbled nature of the report made sense.

"Agent Mulder assisted you on this report, didn't he?" Skinner asked Agent Scully.

"Yes, sir," she replied carefully. "We disagreed slightly on the details and specifics of this case."

"Judging from this report, you found nothing conclusive in your investigation," Skinner said, scowling.

"To the contrary, sir," Scully said. "We ascertained that two distinct persons committed the crimes of which only one man was accused. We discovered that, while the nature of the protector is unverifiable by scientific data, Catherine Chandler does—or did—have a protector. Also not in dispute is the fact that this protector perished in the explosion of the boat on which Catherine Chandler's kidnappers had imprisoned her."

"When you put it that way," Skinner said, "I suppose leeway can be granted on some of the details."

"Thank you, sir," Agent Scully said.

"Why did Ms. Chandler's kidnappers have a bomb onboard? Who were these men?" Skinner asked.

"As we never captured one alive or recovered a body, we never ascertained the reasons for their actions," Agent Scully said. "Agent Mulder and I believe that the kidnappers wanted to take Ms. Chandler on a pleasure cruise but did not want to get caught by the police. They were prepared to die rather than go to prison, but the sniper's bullets convinced them they wanted to live."

"Did you at least determine the sniper's identity?" Skinner asked.

"Yes, sir," Agent Scully replied. "He went by the name of Snow and was the brother of Gabriel, the man who kidnapped Ms. Chandler five years ago and died at her protector's hands. Perhaps he's been biding his time, waiting for a chance to exact revenge."

"You cleared Ms. Chandler's protector of the subway murders," Skinner said.

"Yes, sir," Agent Scully said. "Scientific evidence is clear in that regard, if nothing else."

"That's what the powers that be were most interested in, so I suppose they will be satisfied with your report. I'm glad you managed to complete this case without getting yourselves killed, although I can tell this case took a physical toll on you both."

"Thank you, sir," Agent Mulder said.

_He's been unusually quiet today,_ Skinner thought. _I would swear he's sulking. His bottom lip is slightly poking out, and he's not looking at Agent Scully._

"Sir?" Agent Scully asked, standing up.

"You have something to add to the report, Agent Scully?" Skinner said.

"On the dock, while I was tending to Agent Mulder, Ms. Chandler said something," Scully said.

"Go on," Skinner said.

"Ms. Chandler screamed as if her soul had been ripped in two and then whispered, 'I felt him go.' I did not include it in the written report because I cannot explain it scientifically, but I just decided that the oral report was not complete without Ms. Chandler's exact phrasing. Do you know what it means, sir?"

"I wonder," Agent Mulder muttered, standing up and walking toward the door.

"You have some insight into Ms. Chandler's words, Agent Mulder?" Skinner asked.

"I guess that depends on who you ask," Mulder said, opening Skinner's door.

"Mulder," Agent Scully said, walking up to him.

He walked out without another word, not even escorting her out with his hand on the small of her back like he normally did.

"Had to bring that up…"

"Doesn't…sense, Mulder…"

"…scientific facts…pain in the…"

"…no evidence…"

The agents' argument wafted into AD Skinner's office in bits and pieces. The Smoking Man continued to stand behind Skinner's chair, looking at the door as if it would tell him Bureau secrets. Finally, he limped out from behind Skinner's desk, dropped his cigarette butt into Skinner's half-empty coffee mug, and walked out the door.

Assistant Director Skinner looked down at Agent Scully's report and remembered Mulder's pouty look and petulant tone. _Chicken salad…_

_XXX_

Catherine sat in Vincent's big chair in Father's study, the Friday _Times_ in hand.

"New York City Philanthropist to Take Leave of Absence after Kidnapping," read one headline.

"Waterfront Explosion Kills at Least One: Heiress Catherine Chandler Injured," read another.

While those two headlines were important, the article that interested Catherine most was barely worthy of the name. Buried near the back page, the headline read, "Subway Slasher Cleared of Other Slasher Crimes." The article was vague and uninformative, at least to the casual reader. Between the lines, Catherine read that the agents' story had been accepted by their superiors and the Tunnels community was safe.

Catherine felt content as she read the paper, her hand occasionally finding its way to her baby almost-bump. She was nearly asleep when a large, furred hand gently came to rest on top of her own.

Vincent folded the paper and placed it on one of Father's tables. Catherine stood up, only to settle on Vincent's lap after he sat down in the chair. They sat like that for several minutes, enjoying the closeness and the safety.

"What did you think of Mulder and Scully?" Vincent asked.

"You're asking me?" Catherine asked. "You're the one who can read others' emotions."

"You often have valuable insight into people, Catherine," Vincent said. "That's part of what made you such an excellent investigator. What do your instincts tell you?"

"As you spent more time with Mulder than I did, I doubt I have anything to add to your observations," Catherine said, resting her head against Vincent's chest. "I would say that he's obsessed with finding the truth, although the definition of 'the truth' changes from day to day. He is capable of making tough decisions, but he is also fair and honest. To describe him as 'protective' would be an understatement, especially in regards to Agent Scully—with whom he's in love."

"Is that a suspicion or an accusation?" Vincent asked, laughter rumbling in his chest.

"I guess this is like Clue, isn't it?" Catherine said. "Mulder and Scully in the basement with loaded dialogue."

"Mulder and Scully's relationship is…complicated," Vincent said.

"Coming from you, that's saying something," Catherine said.

"Mulder said himself that he was unsure of his feelings for Agent Scully; to be honest, whenever he would think of her, his feelings reminded me of the emotional bundles you and I send to one another. Perhaps their relationship cannot be labeled at this point," Vincent said.

"I suppose you could say they have a bond that is deeper than friendship or love," Catherine said.

Vincent smiled at the reference, tucking Catherine closer.

"What of Agent Scully?" Vincent asked his wife.

"As different as she and Agent Mulder are," Catherine said, "they are both passionate about uncovering the truth with each other. I asked her point-blank if she loved Agent Mulder, and she told me that she loves him deeply in her own way. Is she in love with him? I don't know. Does she love him? Absolutely."

"Those were my feelings as well," Vincent said.

"How surprising," Catherine said.

Silence once again settled over the room; this time, Catherine was the one to break it.

"Do you think they'll make the same mistakes we did?" Catherine asked.

"I think they will have to go with courage and with care," Vincent replied. "While I feel they will have to overcome many more obstacles, I feel adversity will strengthen their bond rather than weaken it. I also feel we will see them again someday."

"I've learned to trust your feelings, Vincent," Catherine said.

"My feelings are your feelings," Vincent said.

Catherine drifted off to sleep, so Vincent carried her back to their chambers and tucked her into their bed.

XXX

Mulder answered the door, eyes widening in surprise at Scully's casual attire. Form-fitting jeans and a turtleneck comprised of various shades of blue were partially covered by a navy overcoat.

"Are you sure you're at the right place?" Mulder said, grinning. "I was expecting a woman in a suit and trench coat, not a beautiful young lady."

"Is that the best pick-up line you have?" Scully said. "No wonder you're single."

"I guess I'm not as suave as Captain Kirk," Mulder said.

"If you were, I would've stayed at Quantico," Scully said.

"Would you like to come in?" Mulder said. "I have planned an evening of gourmet dining, cinematic brilliance, and, of course, the best company."

"Between that description and your pick-up line, I would be a fool to resist you," Scully said.

Mulder opened the door wider and made a sweeping bow. "Zees way, mademoiselle," he said.

"May I take your overcoat, mademoiselle?" Mulder said, holding out his hand.

"Okay," Scully said, shedding the coat and handing it to Mulder.

He tossed it over the back of the chair. "Only the best for you, Scully."

"You really do know how to sweep a girl off her feet," Scully said. "So what is this gourmet dining I've been promised?"

"Beer and pizza—the food of kings," Mulder said.

"Actually, that sounds surprisingly appealing," Scully said.

"The pizza boy should be here soon," Mulder said. "I'll get a couple beers out of the fridge."

"While I approve of the gourmet dining and am willing to give the company a chance, I'm skeptical about the quality of the cinematic brilliance—especially since Star Trek was made for television rather than cinema," Scully said.

"If you were anything other than skeptical, you wouldn't be you, Scully," Mulder said.

"You dodged my question," Scully said. "Perhaps you're uneasy about describing how quickly Kirk tries to seduce the babe of the week. Maybe you don't want to describe the silliness of the make-up or the cheesiness of the special effects."

"Actually, I've chosen an episode I think you'll like. It's called "Empath," Mulder said.

"Very funny, Mulder," Scully said. "Does it involve a beautiful woman and a self-sacrificing empath?"

"Actually, yes," Mulder said. "For a skeptic, you have good intuition."

A knock sounded at the door, so Mulder opened it. Mulder took the pizzas from the delivery boy and paid him, giving him a decent tip since Scully was there.

"Deenair es sairved," Mulder said, flourishing a pizza box in Scully's direction.

"Are we going to slum or are we going to—do you even have a table?" Scully said.

"Of course I have a table," Mulder said, gesturing toward a small table he had recently cleared off for the occasion.

They ate at the table, consuming the first pizza and a third of the second one.

"That was really good, Mulder," Scully said, finishing off her beer. "Although I feel sacrilegious complimenting this pizza so soon after eating New York pizza."

"That pizza from Cosa Nostra was amazing," Mulder said. "Especially since we didn't have to pay for it. It was good of Joe to tell the owners an abbreviated version of what happened a few nights ago so they would never charge us for food."

"Sorry I'm wearing some of our supper, Mulder," Scully said, picking at a dab of tomato sauce that had landed in an inconvenient spot on her sweater.

"That's okay, Scully," Mulder said. "I have the perfect shirt you can change into if you want."

"Is that a pick-up line disguised as an offer of assistance?" Scully said.

"No," Mulder said, pretending to be insulted, "it's an attempt to segue into giving you your birthday present."

"You remembered my birthday?" Scully said, beaming. "When you didn't say anything yesterday on my actual birthday, I thought you'd forgotten—again."

_I could never forget your birthday, Scully, _Mulder thought. _I have an eidetic memory, especially where you're concerned. Your birthday has been embedded in my brain since I read 'February 23, 1964' in your dossier that first day. I don't like birthdays for several reasons, and I'll tell them to you._

Instead, Mulder said, "Kim said something as we were leaving Skinner's office, remember? No, I bought you this on a whim."

He picked up a white clothing box that had been sitting on a cluttered table.

"Hiding in plain sight," Scully said, taking the box and looking pointedly at him.

_Does she know the truth?_ Mulder wondered. _Does she know I would buy her enough presents to fill our basement office if I thought she wouldn't take it the wrong way? Does she know I'm shutting her out again, putting up more walls?_

She opened the box.

"Mulder, you shouldn't have," she said, sounding like she meant it.

She held up a Starfleet science officer's blue shirt, complete with stitched emblem on the breast.

"Now you don't have to wear your dirty sweater," Mulder said. "Or you could slip the shirt on over your sweater as the blue would complement the uniform nicely."

"I never knew you had such great fashion sense, especially given your choice of ties," Scully said.

"Will you wear it, Scully?" Mulder asked, turning on the boyish charm.

"No," Scully said, folding the shirt and placing it back in the box.

"Aw, c'mon, Scully," Mulder said. "Loosen up. It's just us, right? Nobody else would have to know."  
"Nobody else will ever know because nothing is going to happen," Scully said.

"Please?" Mulder said, sticking out his lower lip and pulling a puppy face.

"I will not put on this shirt so I can fulfill your perverted, adolescent fantasy," Scully said.

_Now, the trump card._

"That's not the only thing I got you," Mulder said. "Look under the tissue paper."

Scully did so, and pulled out a small box. She opened it, and her mouth dropped open.

"You didn't, Mulder," Scully said.

"Of course I did," Mulder said.

"I will not wear these…these…"

"Vulcan ears," Mulder said.

"No."

"But if you wear the uniform, the Vulcan ears will complete the costume," Mulder said.

"I'm not wearing the uniform, Mulder, so there will be no costume to complete," Scully said.

"I'm sorry you don't like your birthday present," Mulder said.

"Don't try to make me feel guilty," Scully said, "especially since I think _my _birthday present is more for _you _anyway."

"I just thought you might want a costume since I also bought one in New York," Mulder said, picking up a gold shirt that had been hanging over a chair.

"So you want me to be Spock to your Captain Kirk," Scully said.

"You are kind of like Spock," Mulder said. "You often fail to understand my illogical ideas and actions, but you try to help me see them through anyway. You save me from my own mistakes, and stand up to me when I won't own up to them. I might rail against your scientific rationalizations, but I have to admit that they have saved my life on occasion."

"With your brash confidence and arrogant smirk, you do resemble Captain Kirk," Scully said. "Despite your illogical nature, you often solve cases in spite of yourself. Women are drawn to you, but you always return to your true love: your work. You listen to your rational partner when it suits you, but you disregard her sound, logical advice any chance you get. You only let her sit in your chair when you're gone, and there's only room for one captain's chair on your bridge."

"You have quite a grasp of Star Trek for someone who claims to have watched only a few episodes," Mulder said.

"All those things happened in the few episodes I viewed," Scully said.

Mulder slipped the gold shirt over his gray one.

"Will you, Scully?" He asked. "At least I didn't buy you the traditional woman's Starfleet uniform, which consisted of a form-fitting top and miniskirt."

He watched Scully debate herself, and hoped that his inclusion of the Vulcan ears would tip the scales in his favor.

_Scully always tries to compromise. She usually rejects my most extreme ideas but at least listens to my less-extreme ones. Hopefully, she'll see the uniform as the middle, as the least-extreme measure she can take that can both save her dignity and make me happy. Most illogical…_

Scully sighed and pulled the uniform shirt over her sweater.

_Yes!_

"Very nice, Scully," Mulder said.

_That's the understatement of the year. I knew that shirt would match her eyes…_

"Mulder, swear to me on your belief in intelligent extraterrestrial life that you will never tell another living soul you convinced me to wear this," Scully said.

"I solemnly swear on my belief in little gray Reticulans that I will never tell anyone that my partner loosened up and had a little fun at my apartment," Mulder said.

"Are we going to watch Star Trek or are we just going to sit here talking about it?" Scully said.

Mulder walked over to his extensive video collection and selected a tape.

"Just make sure you put on an actual Star Trek episode," Scully said. "For the record, just because a cinematic work contains Star Trek characters does not make it a Star Trek episode. I didn't agree to watch _Spock It to Me: Captain Kirk and the Orion Slave Girls Edition_."

"I'm putting on "Empath" like I told you I would earlier," Mulder said. "Some of these tapes aren't mine, like I also told you earlier."

"Of course, Mulder," Scully said.

He pressed play. The episode opened with the Enterprise in space against the backdrop of a planet.

"Ooh, I love this episode," Scully said sarcastically.

"I still think you've watched more Trek than you let on," Mulder said.

"The three episodes I watched all opened like this, so I'm not surprised this one does," Scully said.

Captain Kirk, Spock, and Bones McCoy were transported to an unknown location, baffling the crew of the Enterprise.

"I love that episode where Kirk, Spock, and Bones disappear and nobody knows where they went. It's my favorite," Scully said.

"You are such a killjoy," Mulder said. "Do you ever enjoy anything?"

"I enjoy lots of things, Mulder," Scully said. "I enjoy reading _Moby Dick_. I enjoy bubble baths—minus Donnie Pfaster. I enjoy dinner with my mother and siblings. Jogging at reasonable hours. Coffee. Not pissing off my superiors. Knowing where my partner is at all times. Tofu ice cream. Not getting killed."

"You're livin' the dream, Agent Scully," Mulder said. "You'd better pay attention or else you'll miss something once these opening credits end."

"Can't have that," Scully muttered.

A beautiful, young woman appeared onscreen. She was incapable of speech, but was able to heal the three men's wounds.

"How long does it take Kirk to try to put the 'pathetic' in 'empathetic'?" Scully said.

Mulder refused to deign the question with a response.

Before long, Scully was wrapped up in the story of the woman who was being coerced by an alien race called the Vians into learning lessons that would teach her how to save her people.

"Men weren't intended to live this far underground," McCoy groused. "It's not natural."

"And space travel is?" Kirk replied.

"Some men spend the majority of their lives in mines beneath the surface," Spock said.

"I'm a doctor, not a coal miner," Bones retorted, scowling.

Mulder looked at Scully, intending to make a joke about their recent experiences. She looked at him, caution in her eyes. _Even Scully now has Tunnels paranoia. Catherine would be proud. Vincent wouldn't be proud of how I turned down a chance to be honest with Scully…_

Scully was silent as McCoy rendered first Kirk and then Spock unconscious so he could sacrifice himself.

"She does not yet have the instinct to save her people," one of the alien experimenters intoned as Bones lay dying on the dais, the empath cringing on the floor in fear for her safety and for McCoy's.

The empath overcame her fears as well as McCoy's efforts to push her away and attempted to heal him. She passed out, and Kirk gave one of his speeches about humanity and depth of feeling to convince the Vians to heal Bones.

The episode ended happily, the three men restored to the Enterprise in relatively good health. The theme music sounded, and Mulder looked at Scully.

"What did you think?" he said.

"It's the best episode I've seen, which isn't saying much," Scully said. "One thing that bothers me is that there were never any repercussions from the Vians' actions. They abducted this woman and forced her to carry out tasks that suited their own purposes. Two men were murdered, several were injured, and the Vians had to be convinced by one of Kirk's rah-rah speeches to perform a basic act of mercy. I wouldn't have been surprised to see the Vians pull out packs of Morleys and light up. Is the Federation content to merely get its own back, hide behind the Prime Directive, and carry on?"

"What could the Federation have done?" Mulder said. "The Vians were more powerful than the Federation, the empath learned her lessons well, and the Prime Directive was quite clear. The Vians would argue that their actions were necessary and that the greater wrong would have been to do nothing, to fail to sacrifice a few to save many. For once, though, Scully, I agree with you. Perhaps our experiences with such creatures give us a different perspective."

"Even in the supposedly enlightened twenty-third century, powerful men still get away with abduction and murder and the powers that be still let them," Scully said. "Not exactly the message of hope Roddenberry seemed so fond of promoting."

"How did you know about Roddenberry's personal feelings about Star Trek?" Mulder asked. "That's not something you glean from watching an episode or two."

"Maybe I stumbled on an interview, heard that excerpt, and flipped to the next channel," Scully said.

"Or maybe you're a closet Trekkie," Mulder said.

"As fun as this has been, Mulder, a bubble bath and a good book are calling to me," Scully said, standing up.

"Aw, c'mon, Scully," Mulder said. "There are still several slices of pizza left, not to mention a couple beers in the fridge."

"Are you trying to get me drunk, Agent Mulder?" Scully asked, raising an eyebrow. "I'm fairly certain that's against Bureau policy."

"As much fun as that would be, I'd be content to simply watch another episode of Trek with you, finish the pizza and beer, and enjoy your company. I won't even ask you to wear your Vulcan ears," Mulder said.

"Good, because I wouldn't," Scully said.

"But you'll stay?" Mulder said.

"Okay, I'll stay," Scully said. "But I won't wear the ears."

"Fine," Mulder said, raising his hands in surrender.

He put on another episode, and then another. She fell asleep curled up on his couch late that night, pizza and beer distant memories. Mulder ejected "City on the Edge of Forever" and looked down at his partner, peacefully sleeping in her Starfleet medical uniform shirt and the Vulcan ears, which she had applied with his help after that last beer.

_Should I wake her? _he asked himself. She looked beautiful, almost child-like, the Vulcan ears enhancing her profile.

Making his decision, he gently stretched her out on the couch. He covered her with his blanket and propped her up on his pillow, tucking her in to protect her from the cold.

He quietly opened the closet door, pulled out an old sleeping bag and a hard pillow, and grimaced at the dusty smell of disuse. After a few moments of nonplussed staring off into space, Mulder shrugged and unrolled his sleeping bag in front of his door. He quickly fell asleep, dreaming of a red-headed, blue-clad Vulcan woman who saved the life of the dark-haired Star Fleet captain and became his best friend.


	16. Epilogue

Disclaimer: I own neither B&tB nor X-Files.

A/N: Thank you for reading this story; I hope you enjoyed it. A sequel is in the works, although I can make no promises. Should I write it, the sequel would involve not only friends from the Tunnels and X-Files but a couple from Deep Space 9 as well. Be Well and Fight the Future,

Rebecca J. (Praetorian Productions)

_Seven Years Later_

_Early June, 2002_

_Two weeks after "The Truth"_

Darkness surrounded Scully, the bumping and jostling anything but peaceful. The last thing Scully wanted was to be alone, but circumstances mandated her to be so. She lay in a fetal position, her body cramped and achy from days spent twisted and braced against the constant motion.

Mulder embraced the darkness as he always had. He regretted that Scully had to bear this current darkness alone, but as was so often the case, the circumstance was unavoidable. Having been caged in small spaces a time or two, he was at least experienced in how to handle the present situation. The rumbling decreased and then stopped.

Jacob stood beside his father, the excitement of the crowd contagious as it swept over everyone in the warehouse. When he had asked his father what was so special about this particular truckload of supplies, his father had smiled mysteriously and told him this was perhaps the most important shipment the Tunnels had ever prepared to receive. He saw no evidence of special items, however; Helpers and residents unloaded only ordinary-looking boxes and bags and crates.

Caroline saw the crates before her big brother did, a fact that made her happy. She would have to rub in her minor victory later. These crates were obviously different from the rest, longer, deeper, and wider than anything she'd ever seen. They were being handled with great care, as if the lifters believed the contents would shatter at the slightest misstep. Had Daddy been able to come Above, he could've lifted each crate as if it were no heavier than a shoebox. But Daddy had to stay Below, although Caroline didn't completely understand why.

Devin directed the lifters to shift slightly to the left, avoiding a crate of fresh fruit from the Lins. At last, they made it to an old, open elevator; it was really just a concrete slab that descended several stories beneath the surface to a Tunnels entrance. He secured the large crates in the center and gave the order for the elevator to begin its descent. Going down seemed to take forever; he breathed a sigh of relief when the rickety elevator shuddered to a stop.

Vincent sensed numerous emotions emanating from the two crates; he decided to immediately remedy a few of them. _I'm going to open Scully's crate first, but I'll let you help her exit the crate so I can open Mulder's_ Vincent sent to Catherine. He grasped a corner of the nearest crate and heaved, easily lifting off the entire top; the woman concealed in the box began to stir. Agent Scully had aged since Vincent had seen her last. While she was even more striking than she had been when he had met her seven years ago, her face was more lined and a deeper sadness resided in her eyes. _Life has been both kind and cruel to her…_

Catherine watched her husband open the second crate as easily as anyone else would open a Tupperware container. Even after fifteen years, she still enjoyed watching her husband lift heavy things so effortlessly. Catherine assisted a shaky Agent Scully out of her crate, but most eyes were now turned to the contents of the second crate. Catherine sensed Scully's intentions; either the Bond had strengthened to the point where she now had limited empathic abilities or she simply knew what she would do in Scully's situation. _Agent Scully is about to join you and Mulder whether you're ready or not _Catherine sent. Scully broke away from Catherine and stumbled to the side of the other crate, reaching into its depths.

Mouse knew what Mulder's Scully would do. He'd known Mulder's Scully was Mulder's Scully before Mulder, after all. Like Mouse's Jamie, Mulder's Scully would help her love quicker than quick. Mulder's Scully said Mulder's name, touched his face, kissed his lips. Mouse always woke when Mouse's Jamie did that, so Mulder would wake too. Mulder sat up, climbed out, held onto Mulder's Scully. Mulder and Mulder's Scully stood that way for a little bit, then let go to stretch. Mouse was glad to have Mulder and Mulder's Scully in the Tunnels. He looked at Mouse's Jamie and Mouse's children and decided that life was better than good, better than best.

Samantha saw little trace of the man she had shyly invited to share William's wine seven years ago. As they trekked through the Tunnels, she observed that Mulder and his partner were never separated for more than a few seconds. He still rested his hand at the small of her back like he had seven years ago, but he carried himself as if he expected her to be taken from him at any moment. _If I let her go, I'll never get her back, _she could almost hear him think. His partner was every bit as possessive of him, leaning into his hand as if she expected it to be pulled back from her on the next step. They approached the Tunnels hub, and the agents seemed to relax slightly. The woman fingered a slight red cut on the back of her neck and looked at Mulder, the two communicating in a way that reminded Samantha of Vincent and Catherine.

Father watched the couple stumble into his study, understanding fully how they were feeling. He remembered what it felt like to know the truth, to share that truth with others in positions of authority, and to be rejected and silenced because of the unpopularity of that truth. Scully's presence made Father feel a momentary, shameful pang of jealousy. What would his life have been had Margaret stood by him as Scully was standing by Mulder? The old man instantly shoved that thought far away, happy that this courageous couple might finally have a small measure of peace. Of course, given what he now knew, peace was looking less and less likely, for all of them.

Kanin nodded at Mulder and Scully as they passed him on their way to Father. How well he recognized those expressions; he understood what it felt like to live behind the haunted eyes of a wanted man. Loss, fear, duplicity…He also admired Scully, who was obviously as strong as his beloved Livy. They stopped in front of Father, greeting the Tunnels patriarch respectfully and with evident gratitude.

"Thank you for bending your rules for me, for us," Mulder said. "I remember being told seven years ago that you didn't harbor convicted criminals who had not paid their debts to society, but I'm thankful you made an exception in my case."

"As I have concrete evidence of your innocence, it would be wrong of me to hold your false conviction against you," Father said.

"Concrete evidence?" Scully said.

"Yeah," Jimmy Bond said, stepping forward. "This."

He held up a jewel case in which rested a CD. In black Sharpie on the front, someone had written, "Our kung fu's the best." Jimmy had discovered it while cleaning out the Gunmen's possessions; he had put off doing so for weeks but had finally worked up the nerve after Mulder and Scully's disappearance. The disc had been sitting in a drawer, wrapped in a New York Mets baseball cap and a piece of paper containing directions to a location in New York City.

"What's on it?" Mulder asked.

"Let the Gunmen explain it themselves," Yves Adele Harlow said in her cultured accent, stepping forward.

"How?" Mulder said.

"Jimmy and I found this disc in the Gunmen's possessions, wrapped in this," she said, handing over the baseball cap and the directions. "We read a few of these files and departed immediately for New York."

Yves had a hard time believing she was here, but her life had always been unpredictable. After reading part of the disc, there was nowhere else she would rather be.

She stuck the disc into the drive of a laptop, thankful for three hour battery life. A directory came up; she clicked on the file named, "Read Me First, Mulder."

"'Hey, Hotshot,'" Mulder read aloud. "'Forget all that stuff we told you on the side of the road. Being dead can make you kinda crazy; if you've met Kristopher Gentian, you know what we're talking about. You told us you needed to know if you could change the truth, so we did a little digging like we always do. We had a little help from some friends of yours; they tell us that you acquitted yourself well at your hearing in eloquence if not in verdict. There is no such thing as perfect happiness, but there is hope—if you and your better half are willing to work for it. Never give up. Never sell out. Fight the Future, signed, Byers, Langly, and Frohike.'"

Had Yves not trained herself to show no emotion in public, she would have had tears in her eyes. She had read the words, but to hear Mulder read them…

"Proof, Scully," Mulder said, eyes wide and shining. "The proof we've been pursuing for nine years. The dead are not lost to us…"

Mulder started reading out names of files like a little boy reads the names of jelly beans in a candy store, but Yves noticed that Scully was paying more attention to the people in the room than to the computer screen. Yves knew what was going to happen next, and she could hardly wait.

"Mulder," Scully said softly, walking up behind him.

"Look at this, Scully!" Mulder said, grinning. "'How to Survive Chip Removal.' You're going to be fine, Scully! The original Fort Weather Complex colonization document! Roswell! 'How to Defeat A Supersoldier.' Blood work on…" Mulder's voice trailed off and his brow furrowed, as if he had just read something that did not make sense. "'How to Raise William So He Can Help Save the World.' That's just cruel…"

"Mulder," Scully said, louder this time. "I have something to tell you."

Mrs. Van de Camp edged forward in anticipation, holding both her breath and the bundle in her arms. She looked at this worn-out woman who had handed her baby over to strangers and knew that she and her husband had made the right choice.

"You know how Skinner and I told you I had to give William up for adoption because I couldn't protect him?" Scully said.

"I'm not likely to forget either of those conversations, Scully," Mulder said.

"I didn't tell you the full story," Scully said. "After learning of the degree of surveillance under which I had been placed for so many years, I became fearful of voicing anything important. Even when we were supposedly safe in Roswell, I could never bring myself to say the words out loud because to do so…Mulder…"

Mrs. Van de Camp decided she could not let Scully continue suffering, so she stepped into the center of Father's study. Scully's eyes were instantly drawn to her, and to the bundle in her arms. Mulder noticed how rigid Scully had become, so he turned his head and looked at Mrs. Van de Camp. He stood, but dawning comprehension forced him back in his seat.

Scully walked up to Mrs. Van de Camp, eyes overflowing with appreciation and gratitude. Mrs. Van de Camp handed the bundle over, tears filling her eyes as Scully looked down into the face of the son she had supposedly given up. Scully slowly walked over to Mulder, who had struggled to his feet.

"Scully…Dana…"

_I can't remember ever seeing anything so beautiful,_ Mrs. Van de Camp thought.

Mulder held his arms out and accepted the bundle from Scully, looking down into the eyes of his son. Wonder was written on his face, wonder and love and…Mrs. Van de Camp could not define all the emotions, although she knew Vincent probably could. Scully inched closer to Mulder and William, grasping Mulder's bent elbows and pulling him and William close.

"I had you big time," Scully whispered.

They stayed like that for a few minutes; Mrs. Van de Camp could not see everyone's eyes due to the dimness of the study, but she doubted any of them were dry.

"How is this possible, Scully?" Mulder asked.

"A few months ago, a gentleman approached my wife and me with an offer," Mr. Van de Camp said, joining his wife in the center of the study. "He told me my services were needed to help some friends of Vincent and Catherine. You see, my parents were Helpers for years. I decided that I wanted to move out of the city, to chase vistas and wide open spaces. I met and married my wife, moved to Wyoming, and was content to remain there—until 9/11."

Mr. Van de Camp struggled to regain his composure, the memories of that day assaulting him anew. He noticed others reacting similarly; no doubt these people had also suffered grievous losses that day.

"My father was killed in the attack, leaving my ailing mother alone. My wife and I agreed that I needed to be closer to her, but we did not have the financial resources to relocate. We prayed for God to send us a miracle, a way for us to move back to the city to take care of my mother. About a month later, this man showed up on my front porch and told me that we had been chosen to help a family in need. All we had to do was play along, and if we did so, we would be handsomely rewarded. At first, we were reluctant to agree, but the man mentioned Vincent and Catherine, and the other details sounded downright providential."

He paused again, remembering how quickly he and his wife had packed up their lives and, by that point, their newly-adopted son.

"Once we got to the city, we discovered that my mother had supposedly bought us our own place in the city. We later discovered that this house had been indirectly purchased by the gentleman behind the plan and that it came with a convenient Tunnels entrance and everything we could possibly need. We were offered great jobs immediately, and my mother lacked for nothing. However, we never forgot the one stipulation, the technicality that made the whole deal difficult for us: someone had to abduct our baby."

Mr. Van de Camp saw Mulder wince at that description, but the man continued to stare intently at Van de Camp, wrapped up in the story.

"We walked William in his stroller in Central Park on the appointed night. A masked assailant kidnapped William out of his stroller while my wife and I were supposedly admiring the scenery. As the kidnapper was never caught, William Van de Camp is still identified as a missing person. However, since William is now with his rightful parents…"

Both Van de Camps teared up. Scully walked up to them and placed her hand on Mrs. Van de Camp's shoulder.

"I cannot convey how much I appreciate what you have done for me, for my family. You have obviously grown attached to my son, so I would appreciate it if you would continue to have an active presence in his life. I know what it feels like to give up a child…"Scully said.

"Thank you," Mr. Van de Camp said, hugging Scully, his wife doing the same.

"Hey, Mon," a voice with a distinctive New York accent said. "Looks like there's already a party goin' on."

John Doggett walked into Father's study, a shocked Monica Reyes at his side. Doggett grinned smugly, pleased at his ability to so thoroughly surprise the woman he loved. _She doesn't believe a guy like me could know 'bout this place._

His smug smile faltered as he realized the reason for the gathering, pride being replaced by shock as he took in the sight of his two good friends and..._wha?_

"Dana! Fox!" Monica squealed, effortlessly moving through the crowd to the two surprised former agents.

Doggett smiled as Mon hugged Dana hard, Mulder and William also getting an enthusiastic greeting.

"What are you three doin' here?" Doggett asked, smiling and walking up to them.

Dana hugged him and Mulder shook his hand with the hand that was not holding William; both Mulder and Scully looked happy but puzzled.

"We once helped save Vincent and Catherine while working on a case near the beginning of our partnership," Mulder said.

"You too?" Doggett said.

"We discovered that Cancerman wanted Vincent for experiments, although we did not understand enough about the alien virus to completely understand his desires. We helped fake Vincent's death, but it was really Catherine who convinced everyone. That scream…"Scully said.

Doggett understood her sudden silence; she was remembering when she had vented her own grief at Mulder's death.

"You were the agents who jumped aboard the _Compass Rose_? Doggett asked. "I never saw you. I heard your voices; Mulder was talkin' pirate and you gave Greg Hughes a lesson on the Constitution. Were you at the party?"

"Yes, we were," Scully said. "But if I remember correctly, we spent about an hour by the Mirror Pool. You must have come and gone either then or after we left. You were down in the hold with Catherine and then Vincent, weren't you? You swam out through the hatch, right?"

"Yeah, I swam out through the hatch with Vincent," Doggett said. "I never believed a place like this existed, but I couldn't deny the evidence in fronta my eyes. Catherine told me to let her know if I ever needed anything, so after Gibson told us what he read in that corrupt official's mind…I still can't believe I helped save lives with you guys but I never met ya. You know what that means, Scully?"

"That you were meant to get wet every time you meet me for the first time?"

"It means you owe me an apology," Doggett said, grinning. "You threw water in my face because you accused me of lyin' about knowin' Mulder, but I knew Mulder, so I wasn't lyin'."

"I threw water in your face because you lied to me about your identity. You lied to me about knowing Mulder in a manner that suggested closer intimacy than hearing him say a few words from a distance. And speaking of intimacy…'There were women at the Bureau he would sometimes confide in?'"

"You said that?" Mulder said.

"I was fishin'," Doggett said. "I didn't know you or anyone else. I was just doin' my job. I was just searchin' for the truth."

"The truth?" Mulder said, voice rising. "You implied to Scully that I…"

"What did Gibson tell you?" Scully said, cutting in.

"The truth," Gibson Praise said, stepping out of the shadows.

All the ex-agents converged on Gibson, greeting and hugging him.

"I told John, Monica, Skinner, and Kersh that the alien replacement knew everything about their involvement in your escape," Gibson said. "The only way we made it here alive was by hitchhiking with people I read as trustworthy. We were originally going to escape with John and Monica, who had concocted a scheme involving supposedly moving in together as a reason to load all their things in a moving truck. But we got separated—"

"Who's 'we?'" Mulder asked.

"Gibson and me," Skinner said, stepping into the light.

Skinner was happy at the fuss they all made over him; as silly as he felt for admitting it, he had been afraid that Scully especially would not be glad to see him. She had not trusted him with the truth about William, but after hearing her story and discovering that she had not even told Mulder, he realized it was not he Scully had mistrusted.

"Gibson told me what he had heard the alien replacement think about me, so I decided I had no future in the Bureau. I don't have many prized possessions, but I packed what little I had in a few cardboard crates. The original plan had been to escape with Doggett and Reyes, who were also in danger and had concocted their escape plan. However, Gibson and I got waylaid by supersoldiers en route and had to improvise."

"I had read Scully's mind the night they escaped and knew where she had planned to go; I realized that Mulder did not know about everything Scully had done. Reading John's mind, I realized to my surprise that he also knew about this place. Barely escaping from the supersoldiers, we hitchhiked to New York with trustworthy people. When we got to New York, a scruffy-looking guy with a Mets baseball cap told us he would take us where we wanted to go. I followed him because I was curious to discover why I could not get a fix on his mind yet felt nothing but good things about him."

"What about Kersh?" Mulder asked.

"He couldn't bring himself to leave his job," Gibson said. "He felt he had been foolish to rebel against authority once and that since his role in your escape had been minimal, he would escape punishment. I tried to convince him otherwise, but he refused to listen."

Skinner placed a reassuring hand on Gibson's shoulder and thought that Gibson was not to blame for Kersh's stubbornness.

"I know," Gibson said.

Skinner didn't know if he would ever get used to Gibson's abilities.

"I like it here," Gibson said. "People are so used to Vincent's ability to read people's emotions that they have adapted decently well to my ability to read minds. There are also plenty of safe places where I can be alone, where I can't hear anyone's thoughts. It's also completely lined with magnetite, which is a definite plus."

"What did you say?" Scully said.

"You haven't made it that far on the disc, have you?" Gibson said.

"What disc?" Doggett asked.

"The disc the Lone Gunmen gave us from beyond the grave," Mulder said. "It has the Truth on it. Proof of everything we've been trying to prove. It obviously has the useful information that whoever constructed these tunnels millennia ago deliberately built them through magnetite as protection from colonization."

"You really expect me to believe that that disc was made by a buncha dead guys?" Doggett said. "You tryin' to tell me that we suddenly have a disc that conveniently tells us everything we need to know about everything? That sounds like…how would Mrs. Burkowitz have put it in twelfth grade English? _Gunmen ex machina_?"

"I don't know, John," Monica said. "Surely we have encountered stranger things in our work on the X-Files."

"Yeah, and I've disbelieved just about every one of you and Scully's theories," Doggett said.

"You left me out," Mulder said. "Does that mean you believed some of my theories?"

"No," Doggett said. "It simply means we didn't work much together so I think of Dana and Monica when I think of the X-Files."

"That's not fair," Mulder said. "I was abducted, then I was dead, then I was blackballed. I'd like to see you overcome those odds."

"Now, now," Monica said, putting a hand on Doggett's arm. "We can work all of this out later."

"You're right, Mon," Doggett said. "In fact, I have a peace offerin'."

He walked over to a duffel bag he had been carrying and took out a yard-long cardboard tube. Uncapping it, he handed it to Mulder. Tipping the tube, Mulder shook out a battered, rolled-up poster. He unfurled it one-handed, grinning at Scully.

"'I Want to Believe,'" he said, reading the poster. "Thank you, Doggett."

"We had been plannin' on puttin' it in our chamber, but we think you should have it so you can put it in yours. I mean, 'yours, Mulder.' Or, 'yours, Scully.' Or…"  
"We'll put it in our chambers," Scully said.

From the expression on Mulder's face, he had also been unsure of where he would be sleeping.

"It sounds like you have this all figured out, Scully…Dana...We're going to have to figure that out as well, aren't we?"

"Yes, Mulder. Fox," Scully said.

"Not Fox," Mulder said. "Anything but Fox."

"Anything?" Scully said, looking as if she liked the implication.

"What's wrong with Fox?" a husky, lyrical voice asked from the shadows.

She stepped forward, for once not fearing what outsiders would think of her weird appearance. Those who knew and loved her referred to her features as "exotic," but she knew that most Topsiders would call her weird. If her parents were to be believed—and they almost always were—she had nothing to fear from this group of Topsiders because they weren't really Topsiders at all.

At seven years of age, people considered her to be wiser than her years. Given her parentage, nobody was surprised she was precocious. Her Tunnels family was used to her short, soft fur, pronounced canines, and piercing blue eyes. She had also inherited her father's dense musculature and his empathic abilities. At least, those were the words Grandfather used to describe Vincent, so she used them as well to sound smart.

"You must be the child Catherine had after we left," Mulder said. "We were there when she announced she was pregnant with you. The chaos that resulted from that announcement made people's reactions to my return to life seem dull and muted."

"That's probably because not many people saw the latter as worthy of celebration," Scully said.

"True," Mulder said. "Those who matter did, though."

Fox liked the feelings she got from these people. Well, she liked most of the feelings, anyway. They had all gotten happier since arriving in Grandfather's study, but there was still sadness and melancholy and nervousness and fear and…

"What's your name?" Scully said.

"Fox," she said. "Actually, my first name is Dana, but I love my middle name because it describes me. Like a fox, I'm fast, smart, and hard to track. Not even Mouse's son can find me when I hide in the Tunnels."

"Can too," a boy said. "Just takes time."

"I also like it because I realized what a big step it was for my daddy to give me a name that also describes an animal. I am proud of who and what I am. I am proud to be named after the two people my parents say helped give me the life I have today."

"I…don't know what to say," Mulder said. "I dislike the name 'Fox' because my sister…I have bad memories of hearing that name screamed over and over again in panic. I've been 'Mulder' ever since. You can have 'Fox'; I think I'll stick with 'Mulder.'"

"Your wife can call you Fox when nobody else is around," Fox said.

She felt instant disapproval from her daddy, who knew she had not slipped up on purpose. _Doggone bond,_ she thought, her feelings belying her thoughts.

"We're not married," Mulder said, fidgeting.

"Daddy says Tunnels people don't get married in a way that people Above would recognize, but Mommy and Daddy have been married that way for years. If you were to get Joined, the Topsiders wouldn't recognize your marriage."

Fox knew she was going to get a good talking-to from her parents, but she figured that if she was going to get punished, she should at least earn it. _Besides, it's for Mulder and Scully's own good,_ Fox thought.

"I don't think I could handle anyone Above failing to acknowledge something I did," Mulder drawled.

"Mulder," Scully said. "You don't have to feel obligated—"

"Aren't we past the point where you throw up walls to keep me out?" Mulder said. "You've given me our son, a safe place, and…your life, Scully. I looked into the Abyss seven years ago and decided that I could not turn in Vincent not just because he was innocent but because I wanted to believe that a smart, intelligent woman from Above would choose an outcast basement-dweller over a rich, successful man from Above. I might be broke and penniless, but there's nowhere I'd rather be."

Cleon laughed as he stepped into the light.

"Brother, you are anything but penniless," Cleon said. "That woman of yours has been siphoning off your inheritance through our twisted, untraceable channels since you died. She knew that she and her unborn child might someday have to flee, so she contacted us the way we'd agreed on and started investing your money. She liquidated your property holdings through one of our real estate companies; she assumed that any property on such an easy-to-find list would be unsuitable for shelter in case of emergency. As of a week ago, every bit of your several million dollars is safely tucked away in so many different places that it could never be traced—by anyone but me, that is."

_Times like this, I love my job,_ Cleon thought as he watched Mulder's face.

"She also boxed up a lot of your personal possessions and had them sent here. Not through any place obvious; let's just say that a few boxes of clothing and personal effects never made it to Goodwill shelves. You should see your chambers, Mulder; you're a very lucky man to have the heart of such an extraordinary woman."

"Scully…Dana…You've given me—"

Scully put a finger on his lips, reaching up high. She moved her finger and used the hand to gently grip his neck and pull his head down to her level, his face slightly above William.

"Yes," she whispered.

"I might not have a fancy ring like other women have when they get married—"

"Not true," Mouse said, stepping forward and holding out a wooden box. "Mouse and Mouse's Jamie found stones in Crystal Caverns. Mouse made rings. Knew Mulder and Mulder's Scully were in love seven years ago. Obvious."

Jamie accepted Scully's hug, glad that the woman was finally here. She had been reluctant to go along with Mouse's ring scheme at first, but had agreed with him that Mulder and Scully—Mulder's Scully, as Mouse called her—would eventually get married in a Joining ceremony.

"Thank you both," Scully said, hugging Mouse as well.

"Okay, good; okay, fine," Mouse said, blushing.

"They're beautiful!" she said, gasping as she saw the intricate designs.

Both rings featured starburst patterns, blue and hazel crystals shining brilliantly.

"Stars, like Vincent's poem," Mouse said. "Like Mulder's poem," Mouse said, after a reluctant pause.

"Constant stars," Mulder said.

"Thank you, Mouse, Jamie," Scully said. "And we're grateful. I just wish…"

Mulder seemed to know exactly what his love was thinking; he wrapped his arms around her, William between them.

"I know," he whispered. "I wish they could be here, too. Especially her. Maybe someday…"

Mary had a good idea of what Scully was thinking. She had the look of a child who wanted her mother, so the odds were good that Scully was wishing that her family could be here to see her and Mulder Joined. Mary stepped forward, wanting to help.

"I know you miss your family, dear," she said. "We're your family now, and we will do our best to take care of you."

"Thank you," Scully said. "I miss my family, but they are safer where they are for now. Some time over the next ten years…"

Scully's eyes looked far away; she was obviously envisioning what would happen in ten years. Mary wanted to comfort her, but she had seen the disc, too. She knew the truth.

"I know we are not blood—"

"Blood," Mulder said, handing William to Scully and rushing over to the computer.

"Before you distracted me, I had just begun reading a file about how Vincent and Fox's blood held the key to—I haven't finished it yet, and I didn't understand it when I read the opening lines because I didn't understand why my blood would be helpful. But they weren't talking about me. They were talking about Vincent's daughter."

Scully began to read over Mulder's shoulder, an action comfortably familiar to her. As she read it, she knew Mulder would need her scientific expertise to decipher the jargon. She almost dropped William as she realized what she was reading.

"A cure," she whispered. "Cancerman was right. Vincent's blood and his daughter's blood are highly resistant to the alien virus, so much so that their blood actively combats the virus and destroys it. I'm assuming this blood work is hypothetical as there is no way the Gunmen could have gotten access to Vincent and Fox's blood as well as the alien virus…Maybe they somehow got hold of some samples and did some blood work before they died."

"Surely you don't believe that, Scully," Mulder said.

"No, I don't," Scully admitted. "The evidence points to the Read Me as being the most likely explanation, especially since I'm the only one you told about your…conversation with the Gunmen. I still feel the need to put up at least some token resistance to the idea."

"You're the scientist," Mulder said. "Can we manufacture a cure to the disease with a vaccine made from Vincent's blood? How does Fox's blood factor into this? Is it more or less resistant?"

"I will have to study this more in-depth," Scully said, "but if this is to be believed, then yes. We can cure the alien virus with this vaccine."

Vincent watched Mulder and Scully's excited conversation, feeling their joy and hope. He had read the file days ago and had made peace with it. _As ironic as I find the notion that my blood might save the very humans who reject my humanity, I know I could never refuse to save anyone_he sent Catherine. Besides, he knew their daughter would not hesitate to save as many as possible; she was like her parents in so many ways.

Catherine could not pretend to face the future without fear, but she was determined to do whatever she could to protect her family. _As much as I resent the way people would reject you and Fox while accepting something created from your blood, I know we're all fighting something bigger_ Catherine sent. And they would fight, she knew, remembering Father's face from a few weeks ago.

Father was lost in thought, an old man on the verge of passing from this life to the next. The picture he had seen from the file addressed to him kept popping up in his mind, a slide that refused to shuffle over to reveal the next picture. The Smoking Man's name was CGB Spender; the file contained a picture of Spender attending Jacob Wells' trial and testifying against him. Spender's legacy had been one of selfishness and hate; he had stolen Jacob Wells' life Above and had tried to steal the life he had made with his son and his extended family Below. As hard as he had fought over the years to maintain the Tunnels' secrecy, he had come to accept over the past few weeks that their Tunnels were soon going to be a haven for people who wanted to escape the coming colonization. He would not allow Spender to steal any world, his or the one Above. He would probably not be around for the fight, but his children and grandchildren would.

"We'll have to worry about production…distribution…secrecy," Father heard Scully say.

"Yeah, we'll have to start an underground," Mulder said, eliciting a groan from his fiancé.

"Of course, the vaccine itself will have to be produced Above," Elliot Burch said. "Fighting the future won't be cheap, you know. That's where I come in."

_They will fight_, Father thought. _And they will win._

Doggett and Reyes were also looking over Mulder's shoulder, trying to follow Mulder and Scully's frenetic conversation. Reyes was still in shock that John had known of a place like the Tunnels, but to find Fox and Dana here, not to mention William…it was almost too much. Then to discover a cure to the alien virus…She knew John did not yet believe, but she knew he would come to believe once he had read that disc. She knew how thorough the Gunmen could be, knew that Dana had trusted them with William above all others. John would come to believe, not only in aliens and the threat of colonization, but in…

Monica felt her pocket, the rings she had found in John's jumbled possessions still nestled safely there. While she and John had been forced to leave their possessions by the roadside, they had escaped the supersoldiers that had tried to kill them. Monica had salvaged the rings, though, spotting them by chance or providence on top of a pile of other jewelry. She knew that John would ask her to take part in their own joining ceremony soon, and she would be ready.

"A cure," Mulder said, leaning his head back and staring into Scully's eyes.

_Scully, or Dana, _he thought. _Does it really matter? I love them both; both love me._

Scully leaned over slightly, kissing Mulder's upturned face. He stood up, wrapping his arms around his fiancé and son. _I don't think I'll ever tire of standing like this,_ he thought.

William looked up, feeling right for the first time in months. He was just a baby, but every time these two grown-ups held each other with him in the middle, he felt…right. That was the only way he could explain it. Like he was finally where he belonged. He looked up, watching the man and woman touch lips with their eyes closed.

"Maybe there's hope," the woman whispered, pulling back slightly.

While he did not understand what they were saying, he sensed that the words meant these grown-ups knew what William also knew, even though he was only a baby: they were finally home.


End file.
